


Ex Nihilo (And Other Feats of An Untrained Veela)

by Kandakicksass



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Creature Fic, Dubious Consent - heat/allure, EWE, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Self-Acceptance, Slow Burn, The slowest of builds tbh, Veela, Veela Draco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2018-02-10 04:10:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 92,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2010450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kandakicksass/pseuds/Kandakicksass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Screw veela.</p><p>No, literally - screw veela.</p><p>(Alternately, the one where Malfoy is a Veela and needs protection, and Harry is semi-immune to allure and needs to protect. Or something.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Previously "To Expect The Unexpected" and "Draco's Little Secret" before that, as this story has already undergone two re-writes since 2009 and, let's put it bluntly, I was in middle school when I wrote the first version. The original two drafts of the fic were complete fics on FFN, but I've deleted them seeing as they were *bad.* Ex Nihilo is essentially the spiritual successor of those fics and is now a more structurally sound WIP here on AO3. I hope that clears up any confusion if parts still seem kind of familiar.
> 
> Edit 12/31/16:  
> Chapters 1-10 of this fic have been MASSIVELY EDITED. By that I mean any old readers should maybe reread them. While most of the content is only tweaked, there is an entirely new chapter in the middle that adds content, and there are quite a few new scenes.

In a long, long list of things that shouldn’t be Harry Potter’s problem, Draco Malfoy being a veela was probably at the top.

He and Malfoy had barely spoken since returning to Hogwarts after the war – hell, Harry rarely saw him. He wasn’t sure what occupation Malfoy’s frankly ridiculous class schedule could be preparing him for – Arithmancy, Divination, and Herbology? He didn’t know the rest of his classes, barring the one they shared, but those alone threw Harry for a loop. Still, Harry barely saw him outside of mealtimes and the occasional Quidditch match, though Malfoy had elected not to play after the first bludger had been charmed to aim at his head every time it was released.

Sod his bleeding heart, he thought. He glanced uneasily from McGonagall to Malfoy, who was laid out on a lounge, skin sickly and wings tucked around him like a shield. There was something very foreign about him.

“You don’t have to agree, Mr. Potter,” the Headmistress sighed when she happened to catch where his eyes had roamed. “However, you are the only person in this castle I know of who can resist the Imperius, and as it happens, veela allure. I had to ask before deciding to take other measures.”

Harry met her eyes, fighting the urge to nibble on his lower lip. “Before I answer anything, I just – what other measures are there?”

Her stern mouth turned downwards. “There aren’t many, to be completely honest. Suppressants of a sort exist but only do so much for the allure and the heat –“ Harry’s face flamed, but he refused to comment. “- so there’s very little choice but to remove him from the school. He would be mostly isolated until he can control his veela attributes, which he expressed some distaste for.”

Harry sat for a moment quietly. “What all would this entail?”

She sat straighter, getting down to business, but she couldn’t hide the relief in her eyes. She knew as well as he did that he was giving in. “You would be given your own quarters, with two beds and a bathroom, as well as a small sitting area. Unfortunately, we can’t do much about his lessons, and he’d going to have to experiment with self-tutoring and weekly meetings with his professors, because we don’t really want him going out without you.”

“What about my lessons?” he asked.

“We’d ask you to do the same,” she told him. “I don’t want to cause you any inconvenience, Mr. Potter, but I’m not sure how else to keep him at Hogwarts as he’d requested.”

“We can’t just lock him in a tower,” Harry agreed, and sighed. A part of him wanted to be angry about it; he’d spent his entire life doing what was best for other people. He and Malfoy weren’t friends. He wasn’t an innocent, either. And yet…

He turned his attention to Malfoy, and tried to re-familiarize himself with the person about to invade his entire life.

In spite of the sickly pallor, his skin drew attention. Without the glamour McGonagall told him would take weeks if not months to learn, it shimmered ever so slightly in the candlelight with a mother-of-pearl sheen. Harry’d hardly believed that it wasn’t a lotion of some kind when he’d first been summoned to the Headmistress’s office. It made the soft angles of his body more distinct, every dip in his skin characterized by a dulling shadow. Even his hair was different, just as pale but less limp than it had appeared for the past few years. It was thicker and curled at the ends unexpectedly. The tousle of blonde hair just helped the wings give him an ethereal appearance.

The wings, though – the wings were a work of art. His wingspan had to be somewhere close to fourteen feet and their feathers gleamed, dark at the root and bright white at the tip. The longer he stared, the more overwhelmed he was by them. He felt as if he were being hollowed out and filled instead with a growing desire to touch.

He hadn’t realized he was leaning forward until he snapped out of the almost-trance, sniffing irritably at the sleeping Malfoy when it occurred to him he’d been ensnared ever so slightly by the allure.

“Please, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said quietly. Her hands were shaking, and her eyes were on the glassy side – he hadn’t realized she’d been watching Malfoy with him.

“If he’s okay with it…” He gave a helpless shrug, unsure of what else he could possibly do. He couldn’t refuse; it was a person’s  _life_ in his hands. He could condemn Malfoy to isolation, but he knew how cruel a punishment that was – a punishment for something that he had no control over. Like so much else in his life, Harry thought with an almost unwelcome pang of sympathy.

“Thank you,” she said shortly, but not without warmth. Silence reigned for only a moment before a groggy, exhausted Malfoy stirred from his fitful nap.

“Potter?” he grumbled into a yawn. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he added to the headmistress, before straightening and turning back to Harry. “How long was I out? Did she explain things to you, or…?”

It was only then that Harry noticed the discoloration on his collar, and gaped. He didn’t answer Malfoy’s question in favor of asking one of his own.

“Merlin, Malfoy! What happened to you?”

Malfoy blinked and followed Harry’s line of sight. He grimaced, appearing to realize simultaneously that he was shirtless and that there was a rather large bruise where his collar met his shoulder. “None of your fucking business,” he said snidely. McGonagall coughed, and he winced. “When I… presented, earlier,” he said grudgingly, making an obvious attempt not to be more antagonistic. “I was in the hall on the way to Advanced Runes. A sixth year happened to be too close.” He looked upset about it, his eyebrows furrowed, but a pink flush lit his cheeks and ears.

“Too close how?” Harry asked suspiciously, and Draco’s reaction – a withering glare and the paling of the blush that had lit his cheeks – confirmed what he’d suspected. Happened to be too close, his  _ass_. He didn’t bother to ask whether he’d been harassed again; there was no point in asking a question he already knew the answer to. Some of the older years made a hobby of heckling Malfoy and the other Slytherins, and sometimes they tried getting physical. They didn’t often get away with it, but Malfoy always had been more of a target so Harry didn’t doubt he saw more of it than others.

“ _Anyway_ ,” he sneered, avoiding the unasked question and by default, McGonagall’s sharp gaze and angry set of her jaw. “He was too close, and when I presented, he got the release of my allure full-blast. Tried to jump me there in the hallway while holding a couple books, and he accidentally hit me with them.” The ‘while trying to climb me like a tree’ was left unsaid, thankfully, but both Harry and Malfoy could feel the weight of it, twin grimaces on their lips.

“Hell of a way to come into a creature inheritance,” Harry said as meekly as possible, understanding how little Malfoy wanted to talk about the treatment he was receiving from their classmates. He hadn’t realized until he’d watched Malfoy sneer at him defensively how little  _he_ wanted to deal with that attitude for however long it took for Malfoy to learn how to control his veela attributes. If this was going to work, they needed to get along.

Malfoy seemed to work through that himself after hearing Harry’s mild statement, and sighed heavily. “I seem to have a lucky lot in life,” he agreed grimly. “You didn’t answer my question, you know. About if the Headmistress explained what’s going on.”

Harry nodded. “Sorry. Yes, she did.” He looked to her for help, but she appeared content to let them talk it out, and he bit his lip, turning his eyes back to Malfoy, who seemed as much at a loss as he was. “If you’re okay with it, I’m willing to help.” He didn’t ask why Malfoy was so adverse to returning home for the transition period, but then, it wasn’t his business. He wouldn’t want to go back to the Manor either, where every room would undoubtedly remind him of the evil that had walked its halls.

“Not to be rude, Potter, but I don’t have much of a choice if I want to remain here,” was the dry reply, as if he’d read Harry’s mind. “I can manage to cohabitate with even you for a month or two, I’m sure.”

“You’re really okay with this?”

“Do you think I’d prefer to be locked in a room by myself?”

He backtracked upon noticing how defensive Malfoy’s posture was becoming. “Of course not! I just – it’s nothing. I’m fine with it, you’re fine with it – it’ll be, er, fine.”

The most likely unconscious twitch of Malfoy’s wings into an offensive position settled and he watched Harry’s stuttering with a tired, defeated expression. Harry hadn’t even realized until they settled on him with an unwavering gaze that even his eyes had changed.  It was like looking into a pool of silver, his pupil small and his eyelashes a perfect golden frame. When Malfoy bit his own lip in a much more attractive parody of Harry’s nervous habit he noticed that Malfoy’s teeth had changed slightly too, canines sharpened.

Malfoy noticed when he did, but only after making a soft sound of pain and licking his lip in disbelief when he realized he’d accidentally punctured it. “Dammit,” he muttered weakly, and hung his head, covering his face with his hands and appearing for all the world a burdened masterpiece.

“Your rooms are on the fourth floor,” McGonagall interrupted them gently. “Behind the portrait of Geraint. The password is  _deus ex machina_.”

Malfoy looked thoroughly unimpressed with the password, but nodded and stood. “Do you need anything else?” he asked her, his face carefully neutral. When she shook her head, he turned to Harry, who had to remind himself to push away Malfoy’s allure before standing as well. “Come on then, oh mighty knight,” he said with the barest of smiles. “Protect me on our journey.”

“Does this make you the damsel?” he asked, playing along with a teasing smile, making sure that Malfoy didn’t misinterpret his words as an insult.

“Hardly,” was the drawled response. “Try a nobleman. A king, if we’re being particularly ambitious.” He felt stark relief at the wry humor, pleased that the hatred and prejudice of their peers hadn’t killed Malfoy’s fire. It was something he thought about every now and again, how dark and unhappy he looked whenever Harry passed him in the hallway. It almost made him miss the bright, obnoxious child he’d been, no matter how annoying Harry had found him in their earlier years. “We’re going, Headmistress,” Malfoy added over his shoulder, already halfway out the door with Harry at his heels.

“Do try to take care of any riots before they get out of hand,” McGonagall called after them dryly. “I’m putting Mr. Malfoy’s safety in your hands, Mr. Potter.”

He mock-saluted her, but his grin made her expression soften. “Consider it done.”

“Get out of my office,” she snorted, but gave him a small smile in return.

Malfoy was almost to the bottom of the staircase and Harry hurried after him. “You know this isn’t going to work out very well if you insist on running around without me,” he reminded Malfoy archly.

Malfoy glanced over his shoulder at him with a raised eyebrow. “You’re supposed to be the one doing the protecting, Potter, or did you –“

He was cut off as Harry missed a step and physically collided with Malfoy’s shoulder. With a sharp cry of pain as his wing was nearly bent, Malfoy tumbled the down the last few steps, Harry landing on top of him in a jumble of pain and broken glasses.

He groaned, trying to lift himself up and nearly jumping a mile into the air when he accidentally put pressure on one of Malfoy’s wings, which were splayed against the stone at the entrance to the Headmistress’s rooms, making the veela yelp again.

“I’m sorry,” he said as soon as the castle stopped spinning, placing his hand on the stone between feathers as delicately as he could, pushing himself upward. “Shit, I didn’t mean – are you okay?”

He put enough distance between them to make out Malfoy’s face, contorted for a moment in pain, but it mostly only served to give him enough clarity to make out the feathers that surrounded them. For a moment, he could only lay there feeling as if time had lulled to a stop against soft, pale skin and downy wings, a sweet scent making his head hazy.

He pulled back sharply, eyes wide when he realized that his complacency was caused by Malfoy, and shook him a little, trying to wake him enough to get himself under control – or at least attempt to.

Instead, the opening of Malfoy’s eyes only caused his bones to feel a little gooey and he melted ever so slightly, and by the dilation of Malfoy’s pupils, he was feeling it, too.

What he didn’t expect – and didn’t protest – was the way that Malfoy’s wings curled around them, shielding them both. The blonde wordlessly brought his hands up to Harry’s arms, one sliding around to cup the back of his neck, talons Harry didn’t realize he had digging gently into Harry’s neck. There was no pain. Malfoy didn’t speak, but instead made an odd sound – a low rumble that sounded like a purr.

It made him lightheaded and he leaned in, inhaling as subtly as he could, pheromones clouding his mind. The purr got louder, Malfoy’s expression curious and open and even a little aroused. The purr escalated to a soft singing that almost sounded like a bird call, just a few notes, but Harry shuddered at the sound of them and pressed himself closer,  _needing_ to be closer –

 _“Mr. Potter!_ ”

He shook his head, trying to clear it, and reared back when he realized what had happened. “Shit,” he hissed, and scrambled off of Malfoy’s body, ignoring the way that Malfoy’s song –  _shit_ , his fucking  _trill_  – had dipped in disappointment when Harry had pulled back. “Malfoy, stop it!”

The spoken words were like a slap to the face, judging by the way Malfoy went from pouting trill to terrified in two seconds flat. “What did you  _do_!” he cried, jerking back and up, pulling his wings tightly against his body subconsciously.

“I  _tripped_ ,” he snapped, and McGonagall cleared her throat loudly, looking unamused.

“Accidents happen, Mr. Malfoy,” she said with a pointed look. “Be that as it may, I think it best that you two try not to get  _too_ close. Just because Mr. Potter here can pull himself out of the allure does not mean that he is impervious to it all together.”

Malfoy looked for one moment as if he might cry, but he pulled himself together and stood on shaky-looking legs. “I apologize, Potter,” he said stiffly, his voice the smallest bit vulnerable. Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about it. “I didn’t intend to –“

“It wasn’t your fault,” he interrupted, quiet. Malfoy met his gaze and after a moment, nodded. “We’re going to go to our rooms, and avoid any more accidents. We’ll be fine.” He glanced down at the mess on the stone floor, and aimed a silent  _oculus reparo_ at the shards of glass and metal before putting his glasses back on.

McGonagall nodded once, sharply, and turned, ascending the stairs without a look back.

The minute she was out of sight, Malfoy spun and stormed out of the stairway, his wings instinctively ducking through the alcove entrance. “Malfoy!” he groaned, hurrying to catch up with him. “It really was an accident –“

“I’m not upset about that, Potter,” Draco snapped, interrupting him with a stern look. It wasn’t quite a glare, but it was more than the tired glances from before. “I’m –  _ashamed._ And trying to wrap my head around the fact that will be my life for the next few months. I’m entirely unprepared for this, and I don’t know what I’m doing –“

“Malfoy,” he interjected as gently as possible – which of course seemed more awkward than anything else. “We’ll figure this out, yeah? But… did you not know that this would happen? Really?”

Malfoy sighed in defeat. Even his wings seemed to slump. “I was warned,” he grumbled, looking particularly put out. “My mother pulled me aside around my sixteenth birthday and tried to let me know as gently as possible that there was a possibility I would come into a creature inheritance. I didn’t think it would happen, so I never did any research, even though Father’s great-great aunt or something of the sort was a veela.”

“Male veela are rare. I can understand that you didn’t think it was likely,” he offered, trying to help, and to his relief Malfoy just nodded. “There’s always the library. Hermione will be happy to do some research, if you want.”

Malfoy looked like he had something to say but bit it back. Imagining the possibilities, Harry thought privately that it was probably a good thing. “I can do my own research,” Malfoy said slowly, as if debating every word as it passed his lips. Then, he added stiffly, “You probably never noticed, because you always thought I was evil incarnate, but I’m just as good a student as Granger when I apply myself.”

“I never thought you were evil,” Harry disagreed with an eye roll. “And I know you’re plenty smart, Malfoy. I just – I don’t know. Asking Hermione is my default when something needs to be researched.” He shrugged helplessly.

“If you didn't think I was evil, then why did you always hate me so much?” Malfoy asked, then his eyes widened, as if he were surprised by the words.

“Always is a strong word,” Harry mumbled instead of answering, but now that the words were out, Malfoy couldn’t seem to help but ask.

“Ever since I offered you my hand in first year,” he pressed, stepping closer, and Harry realized they were both at a standstill in the middle of the hall. He sent a silent thank you to whatever deity that was listening that the halls were currently empty. “You’ve acted like I was the dirt underneath your shoe! Even this past year, you either ignore me or watch when they fling hexes at me.” Whatever vulnerability that had been in Malfoy’s expression was not in his voice; he sounded furious, as if Harry had personally failed him. And he had.

If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t have an answer. Malfoy’s accusation was the truth – he did ignore it. He rarely gave Malfoy a second glance, even when the most cruel of their class personally punished Malfoy for his part in the war.

Looking at Malfoy now, stony and resigned, he realized just how awful his inaction was. He’d convinced himself that because they were only jinxes and inconveniences, never anything truly harmful, that Malfoy could handle himself. He’d never gotten involved in other people’s squabbles; god knew he’d thrown his own hexes at Malfoy before. The difference, he realized, was that Malfoy had always fought back. He didn’t do that anymore. Harry shifted guiltily. When everyone was doing it, there probably didn’t seem much of a point.

He really didn't have anything against the blonde, not anymore. After the final battle, he'd gotten a quiet apology and an even quieter thank you. One look into Draco's earnest—albeit embarrassed—grey eyes told him that he wasn't just saying it. He accepted the apology and they'd gone their separate way with the exception of a few half-hearted spats littered in between. It was more for a sense of normalcy, and Harry appreciated it, as well, knowing Malfoy probably felt the same way. Even those mild disagreements had stopped a quarter of the way into their “eighth” year, when Malfoy had begun drawing into himself more and more often.

Malfoy searched his eyes, and turned away with a curled lip and gritted teeth before Harry could say anything.

He said it anyway. “I’m sorry.” Malfoy paused and glanced back at him, his mask still firmly in place to hide his real feelings. Harry ran a hand through his hair and bit his lip, trying to figure out how to word what he was thinking. “You’re right; I haven’t… done anything to help. And that’s on me, because if they’re going to listen to anyone about war grudges, it should be me, shouldn’t it? I should have said something and I didn’t. But before this year? It wasn’t just me. You hated me, too.”

“Because you refused my hand,” Malfoy hissed, clearly uncomfortable, glancing around as if waiting for someone to come by and laugh at him. “In public, when all I wanted –“

“Was to ride off of my fame?” he finished with a raised eyebrow, and regretted it when Malfoy’s expression instantly closed off. “You didn’t  _know_ me, Malfoy,” he continued anyway. “And the first thing you did was insult one of the few people who’d been nice to me. You did the same thing when we met in Madam Malkin’s! Hagrid was the first person to be truly kind to me and you insulted him.”

“I didn’t  _know_.”

He tensed. He was so _sick_ of that excuse. “You know what you didn’t know? You didn’t know  _Hagrid_. You still don’t, and you don’t know Ron or any of my friends. You don’t know anything about what they’re really like, but you still spent seven years picking fights, didn’t you?” Then he sighed, and tried to relax. “It’s over now, Malfoy. We’ve both made mistakes, and, well, this first semester is mine. I accept that. But we both contributed to the reason we didn’t get on.”

Malfoy was very quiet. 

“There’s no reason we can’t try to get along now,” he finished, rubbing at the back of his neck, Malfoy’s silence making him feel even more awkward than usual.

Malfoy finally looked up at met his eyes, peering into them as if he expected to read Harry’s thoughts through eye contact. Finally, he nodded and strode down the hall without a word, leaving Harry confused and scrambling to catch up.

If that was what Malfoy called trying to get along, Harry had a feeling he was in for a long couple of months.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Malfoy led them down the hall, steps sure and even. He didn't look back at Harry, even as they passed other students on their way to class. Only a couple looked their way as they passed, and one stared after them until they turned a corner.

"Don't you think you should be... not running off without me?" he asked again, weakly. "You're kind of gathering attention. The entire purpose of this is that I can protect you."

"We're fine for now," Malfoy said through gritted teeth. They turned down the hall on the fourth floor. "And I'm owl-ordering suppressants tonight. By tomorrow I should be perfectly safe for public." He sneered at the thought, coming to a stop in front of their portrait.

"Greetings, students," Sir Geraint said pleasantly.

"Hi," Harry returned.

" _Deus ex machina,"_ Malfoy groused, and Harry traded a glance with Sir Geraint but went inside without arguing.

It was a nice room, with two familiar four-posters, non-descript wall hangings, and a fireplace. The walls and floor were stone, with soft-looking black rugs thrown here and there, and the beds both had very neutral caramel sheets. There was a sofa and armchair on one side of the fire and their study table on the other, several feet away but close enough to stay warm. It was impersonal, but retrieving their things would fix that easily enough.

He would enjoy it more if he wasn't distracted by what Malfoy had said before entering. "You're going on suppressants?"

Malfoy slung his school bag onto one of the four posters. "Of course I am. No reason to live like an animal - if there's something that can make me normal again, I'm taking advantage of it."

Harry tried to find something to say, anything that would make it better. “You’re… look, it’s not like you’re an animal, Malfoy. Don’t you think you’re being a bit overly dramatic?”

He should have known better. Malfoy whirled on him, glaring something fierce. The show of real emotion was almost encouraging, since it was more than the tired resignation of the past semester, but he looked so furious that Harry couldn’t dredge up any sort of gladness to see it.

Malfoy held up one pale hand, fingers all bent just slightly to show off the points of his talons. For a moment, Harry wondered how much force Malfoy would have to use to gut him with them. From the look on Malfoy’s face, he knew exactly where Harry’s mind had gone. “Look at this,” Malfoy said tightly. His wings flared behind him. “And at _these_ , then tell me I’m not an animal.” He met Harry’s eyes, took in his dumbfounded expression, and turned completely away. “I’m going to take the suppressants and it’ll go away. It’s fine.”

“You won’t learn to control it if you’re on suppressants, Malfoy,” Harry pointed out quietly. “The whole point is to control it, and putting it off will make it worse.”

“I could –“

“You can’t stay on those things forever,” he said, talking over Malfoy’s attempt to argue. “I don’t know a lot about potions, but you do. Tell me, what’ll happen if you keep taking a suppressant for months on end? Years? Surely you can’t just use it constantly without side effects.”

Malfoy’s wings drew in tighter, his back visibly tensing. His shoulders hunched.

“I don’t want to burst your bubble or anything,” Harry said, feigning a positivity he didn’t feel. “But surely it’d be better to learn now rather than later. And you’re a good student, you said it yourself. I have total faith you can figure this out.”

Malfoy didn’t turn to look at him. “Do you?” It was probably a rhetorical question, but he answered anyway.

“Of course I do. I didn’t agree to be your bodyguard forever; I’d bet you’ll have it down in a couple months. You’re totally capable.”

Finally, Malfoy turned around, his expression very flat but not the sneer Harry was expecting. “I hope so,” he said instead of arguing, and his tone was very thin but booked no argument. Harry just hoped he’d actually put aside the idea of getting suppressants because in all honesty, he really didn’t think they’d be good for him. After a moment, Malfoy coughed and looked around. “So, we need our things. Will you call a house elf or shall I?”

Harry appreciated the subject change, marked the matter closed, and gave Malfoy a shrug. “I dunno, I kind of thought we could go get our things ourselves. Give our houses a goodbye and whatnot.”

“Something tells me I’ll likely be as welcome in Gryffindor tower as you’ll be in the Slytherin dungeons,” Malfoy said slowly, looking as if he’d swallowed something vile.

“It won’t be that bad,” he insisted, but the blonde only huffed, wings batting lightly and blowing Harry’s dark hair into his eyes. He swept it away, resolved to get it cut, and huffed back at Malfoy.

“Almost every Gryffindor above third year hexes me on sight,” Malfoy replied testily, eyes narrowed to silver slits. Harry winced and scratched the back of his neck, trying to ignore the way that his eyes didn’t want to leave Malfoy’s face.

The worst part was that Harry couldn’t even deny it. He winced, and said unhelpfully, “Well, at least they won’t be hexing you today, will they? They’ll be hitting on you instead. So that’s… er, something. Right?”

Malfoy just looked at him, most likely amazed by his stupidity. “I can’t tell if you’re genuinely an idiot or if you’re joking, Potter.”

He sighed, and went forward to sit on what he was claiming as his bed. “I don’t know what to tell you, Malfoy. We need our things. We can take this as an opportunity to see how people will react to you and how well I can fend them off. Right now, we can just retreat, but what about when you’re hungry? When you’re lonely? When you need to go meet with your professors?”

“You want to use this as a trial run,” Malfoy said, then paused. “It’s not a bad idea,” he admitted, and looked bitter that he had to admit that much. He swallowed it down and pulled together a smirk, putting on another of his masks. He squared his shoulders, his wings pulled tighter against his back. Harry was very curious about how much of his wing movements were instinctual and how much he had to think about, but he didn’t ask. “Do you want some armor before we leave, or do you think it best to attempt this in casual wear?” He snickered when Harry rolled his eyes.

“You know, it’s funny – I think I can handle this sans-armor.” Malfoy cracked a grin, gesturing toward the portrait. “We’re going to Gryffindor first,” he called over his shoulder and got a snort in reply.

“Excellent, we’ll traumatize me with your friends first.” When Harry paused to raise an eyebrow at him, he shooed him off. “Well, go on then!”

Harry led the way, though he didn’t doubt that Malfoy knew how to get there himself. Something told him that Malfoy knew a lot more than he was letting on, but he didn’t push it; he mostly just thanked Merlin that they didn’t run into anyone on the way to the common room. Most of the students would be at dinner, but Harry knew several Gryffindors who frequently used it as a quiet time to study in the common room. It made him tense when they neared the portrait. When they came to a stop in front of a dubious Fat Lady, he coughed and raised an expectant eyebrow at Malfoy.

“What?” he sniffed, then glared when Harry looked less than impressed. “What do you think I’m going to do? Sneak into your  _bloody_ tower and – what? Try and get myself jumped? No thank you. I don’t care about the password and I’m not covering my ears. Go on.”

With a sigh, Harry turned around, giving the Fat Lady a  _what-can-you-do_ expression. “ _Nitwit_.”

Looking quite put upon, the portrait swung open. “Your password is  _nitwit_ , Potter?” Malfoy asked incredulously as he folded his wings to step neatly through the portrait hole. “Who chose that?” Harry opened his mouth to explain ( _Dumbledore)_ but was interrupted.

“I did.” He looked up with a wince to see Hermione standing a few feet away, arms crossed. Even Harry made a face at her no-nonsense Head Girl pose. “Mind explaining, Harry?” Further away, on the couch, two fourth years and Dean Thomas watched with wide eyes… all of which appeared to be glued to Malfoy.

Instead of answering, he turned confused eyes to Hermione. “Wait a minute. You’re not falling all over Malfoy.”

His blonde head snapped up, eyes going from the floor to Hermione in surprise. “You’re not falling all over me!” he repeated, though to be fair it did bear repeating. Her eyebrows furrowed, and when Harry thought about it, he really couldn’t blame her for being confused.

“Why would I be –“ And then Malfoy’s wings extended ever so slightly, fanning out from where they’d been pressed tightly to his back. Her jaw dropped, and all of the other subtle differences seemed to register – the sheen of his skin and unintentional intensity of his eyes. “You’re a veela? I thought that was just a rumor Michael started!” Malfoy’s jaw clenched and he glared at the floor. Even Harry winced; it had been an hour or two at most since it’d happened, and it had already gotten around?

She seemed to realize just how touchy the subject was and grimaced, lowering her voice. “It’s true then?” He noticed that she very carefully kept her distance.

Malfoy nodded sharply. “He was in the hall when that sixth-year attacked me,” he explained stiffly, straightening his shoulders.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. Predictably, in Harry’s opinion, because Hermione was one who wasn’t going to let behavior like that slide. Come to think of it, her presence had stopped Malfoy from being hexed to hell and back several times. He tried to force down the guilt, the insistence that it should have been him to put a stop to it, Malfoy or not. “Who was this sixth-year, then?” she asked, trying to come off as casual and only managing vaguely suspicious. Harry snorted at her attempt at nonchalance and answered for him.

“He doesn’t want to say.” Once again, Malfoy turned those stunning eyes on Harry with a glare. “Don’t look at me like that – it’s true!” He turned back to Hermione. “But, need to know…” He leaned toward her, lowering his voice. “When people get to close, they tend to get caught up in his allure. The bloke that had been harassing him was too close, and when his inheritance came through he got blasted with it.” He shrugged and she made a face.

“It’s fairly strong,” she admitted. He cocked his head to the side and she flushed slightly. “Now that I’m not distracted by the fact that you brought a Slytherin into the tower, it’s a little more… obvious.”

Harry turned back to Malfoy with a thoughtful expression. “You can distract people from the allure?”

“With enough focus anything is possible,” Malfoy shrugged, his tone less biting than before. “Isn’t that how you do it? Learning how to throw off the Imperius helped, like McGonagall probably mentioned, but really it’s all about control. Focus is the key.” He sighed deeply, gazing down at his hands, and then crossed them over his bare chest uncomfortably. “Perhaps that applies to my situation as well.” He looked away, clearly done discussing it.

“You gonna share why he’s here, then, mate?” Dean called, vaguely dazed but not entirely useless. Malfoy’s silver eyes slid over and Dean’s eyes grew glassier. “Not that I’m complaining,” he added absently, leaning forward toward him unconsciously.

Harry glared at him, shifting to put his body between the two eighth-years. “I came to get my things,” he answered in a sharp tone, and Malfoy jammed his elbow into Harry’s side, glaring at him pointedly. He winced, edging away, and lightened up a bit. “We’ve got our own rooms now, to more effectively protect Malfoy from the dangers of veela-allure and schoolchildren.”

“And you’re doing the protecting?” Hermione asked, highly skeptical. He was kind of offended by the upward tilt of her eyebrows that could only be done so effectively (and condescendingly) by her and Malfoy. And Snape, but Harry wasn’t sure if he should count him.

“No,” he snorted sarcastically, momentarily forgetting that Malfoy was still there. “We’re secretly dating and thought this would be a better cover story.” He rolled his eyes, but only wound up with another elbow in his side for his trouble. Even Hermione looked unimpressed. “I can throw off the allure,” he admitted at last. “So McGonagall asked me to watch after him. It was this or hide him away until he figures out how to control this thing.”

After a minute of scrutinizing his expression, Hermione sighed and took a step back and to the side. “Go on, then.” She lowered her voice and added, “I really don’t like the look Dean is giving him. I know it’s not his fault, but I’d prefer to avoid confrontation if we can.” Her eyes gave Malfoy another glance and she didn’t look away until Harry broke her line of sight by shifting slightly to the left. She shook herself and grimaced. “Yeah, I really don’t like that.”

“Neither do I,” Malfoy said coolly, but underneath his irritated expression Harry could tell that he was upset. “Potter. Your things, please?”

He didn’t argue, knowing better than to push it, and put a gestured for Malfoy to follow him. “I’m sorry,” he murmured once they were in the dorm room. He flicked his wand, only vaguely interested in the way his things packed themselves neatly in his trunk. “That must have been uncomfortable. At least we avoided any mauling, though, right?”

Malfoy sighed heavily. He didn’t even bother to glare. “If that is what you think is consoling, I sorely pity anyone who’s ever had to deal with your cheering up.” Harry sighed, cocking his head at Malfoy.

“Something tells me that you’re difficult to cheer up no matter who’s doing it,” he grumbled, and Malfoy narrowed his eyes at him.

“What are you trying to say, Potter?” he ground out, making Harry roll his eyes to the ceiling, begging for patience.

“I’m trying to say that you’re a pessimist,” he snorted. “It’s not that I don’t understand why; things haven’t been easy. Doesn’t change the fact that you let yourself to get into ruts and I doubt anyone could pull you out of them. You just let it happen.”

Harry didn’t need to see Malfoy’s darkening expression to know that he’d spoken too freely without thinking about how it would be taken. “I’m just letting this happen,” he repeated, seething, and Harry grimaced. Yeah, okay, he could see how awfully that sounded. “So it’s my fault that every _fucking_ student in this school thinks it’s funny to curse me and tell me I’m worthless? It’s my fault that I’m now suddenly a creature who will never be able to have a normal relationship with someone because I’m fucking wizarding  _catnip_? It’s my fault that –“

“That’s  _not_ what I meant,” he interrupted loudly, coming forward and clasping his hand over the furious Malfoy’s mouth. The irritation, for the moment, kept him from being thrown over by the allure, and he focused on it. “I  _meant_ ,” he continued. “That you’ve stopped fighting them. That you’re letting what they say get to you, mean something to you when it shouldn’t.” When Malfoy’s eyes were wide but no longer so angry, he removed his hand. “You’re stewing in it, letting yourself believe that you deserve it – but you don’t, Malfoy.”

“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t deserve,” he hissed obstinately, but the argument was weak. “Get your hands off of me.”

He let go and took a step back, but didn’t let up. “You stopped fighting back,” Harry pressed, careful to watch Malfoy’s expressive eyes to make sure he didn’t screw up again. He knew he was risking being struck by the allure, but a little weak-kneed haziness was worth making his point. “Why did you stop fighting back?”

Malfoy was silent for a very long time.

“I want to get my things before curfew, Potter,” he said after several minutes, changing the subject, no segue needed. “Can we please go?” he added, softer, and Harry nodded, casting a silent levitation charm on his trunk.

“Sorry, yeah,” he agreed out loud, and levitated his truck in front of them so he could stick close to Malfoy as they descended the staircase to the Gryffindor commons. “We’re going to get going,” he announced, and Hermione, who had moved to an armchair with a novel, nodded at him.

“Be careful,” she called neutrally.

“Yes, Draco, be careful,” Dean called as well in that strange dreamy voice, echoed by the fourth years on the couch.

Malfoy shuddered beside him and shuffled just that bit closer to Harry’s side, who winced at the thought of how violated Malfoy must feel. He wasn’t a small bloke, by any means – he was slender, but muscular with fairly broad shoulders, strong limbs, and nearly three inches on Harry, and yet he didn’t feel safe on his own. Harry frowned, realizing just how precarious his position was. “Let’s go,” he muttered into Malfoy’s ear, and ushered him back toward the portrait hole.

Malfoy let himself be urged along until they were alone in the hall and he pulled away, his expression dark. “I hate this!” he snapped, tense and upset. Harry chose not  to voice his surprise that Malfoy was confiding in him on any level. “I hate the way they look at me!”

“I understand.”

It was the easiest thing to say, and the most honest. Malfoy paused, and when he turned to face Harry, he looked devastated. “I suppose you do, don’t you?” he whispered, and his words stunned Harry into stillness. “I never realized, until after the war…” He swallowed visibly, and it almost hurt for some ridiculous (most likely allure-related) reason to see his almost surreally beautiful features twisted in pain. “I always thought you liked the attention. I couldn’t think past wanting to be a hero myself. I’m sorry for that, Potter.”

He swallowed himself, then smiled weakly. A second apology, from a Malfoy? “It’s fine. Really.” He managed to grin a little more genuinely. “Look at us, getting on like proper adults.”

Malfoy gave him a startled laugh, shocked out of his dark mood. “I don’t know if I’d classify you as an adult just yet, Potter,” he said in a rough voice, but his eyes weren’t so gloomy any longer, and Harry counted that as a success.

“I could say the same of you,” he teased, and let Malfoy lead him to the Slytherin commons. The dungeon was much colder than the tower, and Harry watched with some concern as Malfoy wrapped his arms around himself again. They’d really have to figure out the shirt situation as soon as possible. It was still winter; there was no way he could go around without shirts, let alone sweaters and coats. “I’ve been here once, you know,” he commented as Malfoy let them into the at first glance blessedly empty room. “It hasn’t changed at all, but we’re a bit older.”

Malfoy turned to gape at him. “You’ve been into the Slytherin common room? What  _possible_ reason would you have for coming into the Slytherin common room? And  _how_?”

He grinned a little sheepishly. “I might’ve suspected that you were the heir of Slytherin. And there might’ve been Polyjuice involved.” It seemed to be the day for accidentally amusing Malfoy, because he barked another laugh. “I was twelve! It seemed logical at the  _time_.”

“You will never fail to amaze me, Potter,” Malfoy snickered, and accio’d his things rather than bringing Harry to his room. They came down neatly, still in the process of arranging themselves into his trunk.

“What a mess you’ve got yourself into, Draco.”

They both jumped, turning to face Pansy Parkinson, who was sitting in a plush armchair in a dark corner. It was very dramatic, as entrances went, but Malfoy didn’t appear too worried about it, no matter how grim Parkinson looked.

“You know as well as I do that I haven’t gotten  _myself_ into anything,” Draco answered with a grimace, and Parkinson made a face, standing, though keeping her distance. “You were waiting for me.”

She looked down, smiling to herself, and it made her much less a threatening figure. It made Harry wonder what the war had done to him, that even a small figure such as an eighteen year old seemed threatening to him if doused in shadow. “Blaise heard Michael Corner talking about it in the hall. He warned us you’d probably be stopping by for your things in any regard.” Her eyes met Harry’s and she added, seemingly for his benefit, “He’s very clever like that. Though…” Her eyes turned back to Malfoy. “I assume you’re not leaving the castle?”

Malfoy finally relaxed. “No,” he answered. “I’m not, thank Merlin. Moving to private chambers. I even have my own bodyguard, for when I venture out.” He gestured toward Harry with a pleasant expression. Malfoy looked tense, though, and moved forward only to stop himself and step back again.

For a moment, he wondered why he looked so conflicted, and then it occurred to him that Parkinson could very well be Malfoy’s Hermione. He tried to picture himself not needing a hug from Hermione if he were in Malfoy’s shoes, and frowned, looking down at his feet. Malfoy couldn’t go and get the comfort he needed, and the thought made Harry feel even worse for him.

“You’re getting on, then?” Parkinson asked amiably. She was still stiff, likely due to Harry’s presence, but Malfoy just shrugged.

“As well as can be expected.”

Parkinson met his eyes, and melted a little. Harry couldn’t tell how much of it was the fondness for Malfoy she’d already possessed and how much was a reaction to the allure. “I’m here for you if you need me.”

“If I got any closer the only way you’d be here for me is if I would let you all over me.” He smiled bitterly, and Parkinson’s expression darkened.  

“I don’t like this,” she muttered, and Malfoy laughed, but it was angrier.

“I don’t like it either,” he agreed, hands clenching into fists. “But it’s happening.” Parkinson ducked her head and Malfoy softened, stepping just a bit closer to murmur gently, “I’ll write to you, yeah? I’ll charm a couple journals and give you one so we can talk whenever you want. I’ll be doing my studies on my own, so I’ll have the time.”

“Of course,” she agreed, and when she looked up there was no trace of the upset that had been in her expression before. “Of course you will,” she repeated. “Because if you didn’t I would end you, veela or not.”

He smiled at her, huffing a short breath in amusement. “Of course, Pansy.” Apparently, that was the end of the conversation, because he was gesturing for Harry to head toward the exit. “I’ll see you later, Pans,” he called over his shoulder, as he ushered Harry out.

“Good-bye, Draco.”

Harry side-eyed Malfoy as they walked back to their rooms. “You know, the way you act in public, I never would have believed that you’re actually friends with any of your year-mates.”

Malfoy snorted, glancing over at him in return. “We have to stick together. None of us would be here if we’d had to come alone,” he admitted. “I mean, look at the way they treat me. They don’t treat Pansy or Blaise much better.”

“What ever happened to the others? The ones that didn’t come back?”

Malfoy shrugged, but his mouth twisted unpleasantly. “Theo decided that he was too grand for a school so openly affiliated with the light,” he answered, sounding disgusted. “The war bloody ends, and he’s still –“ He shook his head and glared at the floor. “I didn’t expect it of him, out of any of us, really. I suppose I just got so used to thinking we were all doing it because of our families that I didn’t think any of us were doing it because we agreed with it.”

“And Goyle?” Harry asked hesitantly, wondering just when Malfoy became so open – and then reminded himself that he’d never known him on a personal level, not really. He very well could have been like this the whole time; he’d just hated Harry too much to be like that around him.

Malfoy looked a little less bitter when he replied, following Harry back up the stairs toward their room. “Greg is in Germany with his mother, who wasn’t involved in the war. He’s gotten a private tutor, and is doing much better in his studies, away from all this rubbish and prejudice.”

“I’m glad,” he offered, and Malfoy offered him another of those rare, tired half-smiles.

They got back into their small private commons, the beds on the end of the room too inviting. It had been a surprisingly long day. “I think I’m going to retire,” Malfoy announced, pulling a pair of pajamas out of his truck once it was situated. Harry didn’t say anything, but when Malfoy went to go get dressed in the bathroom, Harry changed quickly and settled in the bed.

“Good-night, Malfoy,” he called softly when the bathroom door opened, a quiet  _lumos_  lighting the room when Malfoy saw that he’d put out the lights.

“Good-night,” he answered just as softly, and Harry let the sound of Malfoy’s breathing lull him to sleep.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning began almost normally, making the previous day seem like a dream. He didn't even bother to open his eyes when his alarm went off, just groped the bedside table until he reached his wand, silencing it with a choppy wave before dropping it back onto the table.

"Are all of your alarms so bloody loud?"

It wasn't a dream. He didn't groan out loud, but he was grateful for the fact that his face was buried in a pillow so Malfoy couldn't see his grimace. "What, do you prefer soft classical music?" he grumbled, as he forced himself up on his elbow, looking over with a glare.

Malfoy's eyebrow was risen pointedly, and Harry's brain registered the quiet melody from Malfoy's side of the room. "I prefer a calm waking, thank you," Malfoy told him primly, looking much more put-together than Harry did. He may have had a point, but Harry was feeling just grumpy enough to scowl instead of admit it. "And I see something has been delivered - most likely something for our classes. We're early enough for breakfast, however, so I think we can put off our studies until we've eaten. Objections?"

Harry glanced at the two neat piles of parchment on the table in their small sitting area, then back at Malfoy. "Yeah," he said, then promptly dropped his head back into his pillow. He wanted to be glad Malfoy seemed a bit more pleasant and less upset than the day before, but it was too early for him to be anything but irritated.

"Not a morning person?" Malfoy snickered, and when Harry peeked over at him, he was stretching, arms and wings expanding toward the ceiling.

He couldn't look away for a minute. Later, he would tell himself that it was the wings, but mostly it was Malfoy's content smile and tousled hair that stole his attention. At first glance, he really didn't look any different than before; after all, Malfoy had always been attractive. Now, though, he was stunning. The fact that it was Malfoy didn't factor in. Nothing mattered, except soft, pale skin and silver eyes and pale hair and beautiful wings and " _Potter_."

Malfoy was watching him with pursed lips and narrowed eyes. Harry was thankful when, by some unspoken agreement, Malfoy didn't comment. He just repeated, "Not a morning person?" with a meaningful look, waiting for Harry to play it off. It was surprisingly courteous.

"I'm not much for waking up at any time of the day," Harry responded and Malfoy forced a neutral expression. "Breakfast is fine," he added. “You mean to go to the Great Hall?”

Malfoy nodded, throwing his feet over the edge of his bed and stretching one more time. “You were all about testing our limits yesterday,” he pointed out, leaning to the side to pop his back. (Harry looked away for his own mental health, and glanced back over when he heard Malfoy shuffle around.) "Well?" Harry blinked at him until Draco rolled his eyes and added, "Get up then! We're not having breakfast in bed."

Flushing, Harry quickly scrambled out of bed and tugged his sleepshirt over his head, going to dig in his trunk for a suitably clean uniform. “Whose friends are we sitting with then, if we’re venturing out?”

Malfoy paused, pursing his lips in Harry’s direction. “I’m not entirely opposed to sitting with Granger,” he conceded. Harry blinked; he hadn’t expected such an easy acceptance. He’d expected pouting and fits and, then, after a moment, realized that his mental image of a pouty, fit-throwing Draco Malfoy was approximately twelve years old. It was just another reminder that he really didn’t know Draco Malfoy at all.

“So, mine?” he hedged, just to be sure, and Malfoy snorted, but spared him the biting sarcasm that was no doubt lying on that sharp tongue.

“I’m sure you won’t mind if a friend or two of mine joins us as well?” Malfoy said sweetly, but his challenge was unnecessary. It made all the sense in the world to him – but maybe Harry was just better at truces than Malfoy was.

“Sure,” he shrugged, finally turning back to pull a rumpled shirt and a pair of trousers out of his trunk. It wasn’t quite as put together as Malfoy’s ensemble, which was hanging neatly from a hook on the wall Harry hadn’t noticed earlier, but it would do. He would most likely never be up to the clothing standards of a Malfoy, anyway. While Malfoy dressed, the important bits hidden by the curtains on his four poster, he tugged his own clothing on. He was about to grab he bag, when he caught Malfoy’s glare as he emerged - shirt magicked on somehow, slacks perfectly pressed. Maybe the shirt thing wasn’t going to be as big an issue as he thought, relieved that he wouldn’t have to go looking for a way to do what Malfoy had clearly managed on his own.

Malfoy was still glaring at him. “You’re a mess,” Malfoy muttered, sighed, and marched forward to attempt to smooth out his shirt and tie, which he’d managed to half-heartedly throw over his shoulder. “How did you ever get Chang or Weaslette to agree to a single date looking the way you do?”

“I’m told it’s my boyish charm,” he said, a little absently, distracted by the blonde’s closeness. He had never been told any such thing, of course, but it seemed like Malfoy wasn’t even paying attention. He kept his head ducked, fussing over Harry’s tie, and finally growled and pulled his wand out of an unseen pocket around his thigh, hissing at the damn thing in Latin. It slid into place, nestled against his throat.

“Presentable,” Malfoy allowed after a wrinkle-free charm and something that made the stain at the hem of his shirt disappear. He glanced up and paused.

They really were shit at this whole keeping their distance thing, Harry acknowledged, right before being swallowed in quicksilver. He forgot how to breathe, how to think – just leaned forward, needing something. His hands sought Malfoy’s skin and hit his hip. There was a hand on his shoulder, and the sound of an inhale.

Malfoy was gone a second later, just a step away but enough to let air get to Harry’s lungs. His eyes were shut, his hands still reaching out, but now splayed. To keep him away.

“Fuck, Potter.” His voice was rough. Harry shook his head in an attempt to clear it. “This isn’t going to work if you can’t control yourself.” He sounded shaky.

Harry followed his lead and closed his eyes. Without that shimmering skin to distract him, the head clearing went a lot faster. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t accidentally knock you to the ground this time.”

Malfoy laughed, surprised. “Fair point,” he snorted, and when Harry opened one eye to peek at him, Malfoy was watching him with a quirky little half smile. “Have you always been like this, Potter? Because I was always under the impression you were some serious, dim, stuck-up boy wonder, but I’m starting to doubt that.”

“Now?” Harry laughed, relaxing. “You’re just starting to doubt that now?” He paused, then narrowed his eyes. “If I’m not a serious stuck-up boy wonder, what am I, then?”

Malfoy’s smile, which had been small and contemplative, grew to something of a smirk. “You’re a dork. And you’ve completely lost the plot, but in a not entirely bad way.”

“I don’t know if that’s an insult or a compliment.”

“Neither,” Malfoy snorted. “It was a statement of fact.” He backed up. “Let’s go attempt to have breakfast with our respective friends without murdering each other, shall we? We might even succeed.” He strode toward the door without waiting for a response.

“Such an optimist,” he snickered as he followed behind Malfoy.

“I don’t think it’s optimism,” Malfoy said with that same smarmy grin he would always have on his face when about to say something malicious. Something told Harry that something had changed, though. “I’ve just got the world’s best good-luck charm as my personal body guard. It raises our chances of getting through this alive to almost thirty percent.”

They made their way down the hall, Harry shaking his head. “I don’t think I’m a good luck charm. The opposite, really. Look at all the shit that happens around me.” When Malfoy raised his eyebrows at him, Harry shrugged self-consciously, only too aware that he was being a lot more open with Malfoy than he’d planned to be. Stupid thing to say, really.

Thankfully, Malfoy didn’t comment further. Harry counted his blessings that Malfoy wasn’t in the mood to make fun of him that morning; it was the second time he’d had the opportunity for a quick jibe and not taken it.

When they finally made it to the Great Hall, they took a moment to collect themselves before peering in the doorway. No one was paying them any attention, and Harry nodded at Draco.

“So far so good,” he said, and Malfoy made a face, slipping into the room on queue.

Immediately, the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students within range turned to them, eyes hazily finding Malfoy. Some were still talking to their friends, but watching Malfoy with increasingly glazing eyes. None of them made a move to stand, but Harry was wildly uncomfortable with the attention. It was like a load of zombies just waiting for them to get close enough to pounce on.

“Hi, Malfoy,” a Ravenclaw girl Harry vaguely recognized offered up. She sounded mostly in her right mind, and Harry’s shoulders relaxed a little. “You’re particularly beautiful today. Are you looking for a girlfriend?” she added charmingly. Malfoy took a step back, swallowing. Harry stepped in front of him subtly and the girl shook her head a little as if to clear it. She frowned a little, before craning her head to look around him, and the smile came back when Malfoy was within her line of vision again.

“Maybe we shouldn’t tempt fate today?” Harry muttered to Malfoy, watching the upturned faces in front of them.

“I’d make a better match for you, Draco. My dowry is quite impressive,” a Hufflepuff countered, leaning forward. Harry winced.

“I never thought I’d see the day you’d be running away from a potential battle, Potter,” Malfoy said shortly from behind him. “However, I don’t particularly want to deal with the masses today either, so I can acquiesce. Don’t think I’ll always give in to your demands, but – just today.” Harry nodded. “We should leave _now_.” Harry could feel the pull of his allure himself, and didn’t miss the way it grew stronger with Malfoy’s panic. That was not going to be a fun reaction to stress if it kept happening. The Hufflepuff began to stand up, looking more dazed than before, and Harry made quick work of turning them both around and pushing Malfoy toward the exit.

Malfoy let Harry back them both out of the Great Hall, and when they were alone in the hall again, they traded an uncomfortable grimace.

“That was uncomfortable,” Harry said weakly. “What do we do now, then?”

Malfoy sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He looked very human for a moment, weary and frustrated, except for the way his wings arched high and sharp, soft feathers gone scaly. Harry was reminded of the Veela at the Quidditch world cup, whose wings had done something very similar. Reaction to threat, maybe? A quick glance told him Malfoy’s talons were out as well – not fully, but enough to make his fingers look sharp and inhuman. “I don’t actually have any good ideas. I wanted to talk to a couple of my professors today, but they all have classes today except Babbling, and she’s at breakfast.”

Harry leaned against the stone wall. “We could always go to the library for a bit – we need to check out some books, anyway, don’t we? They gave us some assignments but I know there’s a bit of extra reading I’ll need to do for Potions and Transfiguration both.”

“Yeah, that’ll work,” Malfoy agreed, nodding at Harry to lead them away. “Hopefully, most students won’t have free periods first thing, and we’ll be able to move a little easier while they’re in class,” he added, and Harry agreed wholeheartedly. Honestly, what had just happened in the hall was more than creepy. Harry had never been made so uncomfortable by a bunch of students in his life. Harry eyed Malfoy’s feathers, slowly shifting back to downy softness.

The library was quiet, and Madam Pince gave them a pointed look when they came in. Harry waved at her a little, and she narrowed her eyes. The hand dropped. Message received: the library was quiet, and she wanted to keep it that way.

Malfoy snickered at his attempt at friendliness, leading him toward the back. “Lost cause there – I’m the height of charm and she’s never even cracked a smile.”

“The _height of charm_ ,” Harry repeated, unable to hold back a snicker of his own, and Malfoy just smirked at him.

“The very height of it,” Malfoy insisted, his mouth quirked into a grin just big enough that Harry could recognize that he was kidding. “It was bred into me. Malfoys are naturally very charismatic, you know.”

“That explains why I’m so fond of your dad,” Harry snorted. It occurred to him a moment later that Malfoy maybe wouldn’t appreciate digs at his asshole father, but he didn’t look bothered.

“Father only bothers to charm Ministry personnel and those of high standing,” he said with a wave of the hand. “Born for politics, that one. But you’ve met my mother, and she is the most charming person born, no matter who you are.”

Harry was almost surprised by his own agreement. “Yeah, she kind of is,” he answered, and Malfoy just grinned smugly. His wings fluttered – probably from his pleasure at being agreed with. Harry was not overly familiar with Narcissa, but every time he’d spoken to her after the war, she’d been incredibly kind. It might have had something to do with the fact that he’d spoken on the behalf of the entire family, but Harry would take what he could get from them.

Malfoy found them a table and went off to find a couple books, leaving Harry to ponder.

He had spoken for the entire family, but unlike for Narcissa and her son, Harry had no intention of helping Lucius walk free. He was bound to the Manor with restricted access to spells and monitoring over a good deal of his movements. Truthfully, Harry thought he deserved prison. He would never forgive or forget Lucius’ actions – starting with putting Riddle’s journal in Ginny’s things and ending with his genuine loyalty to Voldemort – but he’d also been to Azkaban, and he wouldn’t wish it on someone as petty as Malfoy.

Harry had never mentioned it aloud, but Malfoy Sr.’s health was frail, too. The war had been hard on him, and Voldemort was not a kind master. Harry had taken one look at him after the war and known that he wouldn’t last the winter in a drafty, flooding cell. Others he’d gladly testified against – he had no pity for men like Mulciber or either of Lestrange brothers. Lucius Malfoy, however… he was a supremacist of the worst kind, and Harry would never see eye to eye with him, but he was no Greyback. He wasn’t a heartless killer like those around him – just a bigot who picked the wrong side.

“Here’s a couple copies of the Potions text we’ll need,” Malfoy said, distracting Harry from his thoughts. He’d returned with five books total, and slid two over to Harry. “Our assignments are a little different, but I’m fairly certain we’ll use the same text. I also grabbed one for your Transfiguration course. I’m not taking that class, but Pansy is, so I think it should be the right one.” He tapped one of the books with one finger, and Harry noticed with relief that the sharpness of his fingers had gone down again as well.

It was. “Thanks, Malfoy,” he hummed, looking over the Transfiguration text. 

They studied in silence for the next twenty or so minutes, comfortably passing the time. Harry almost snorted to himself when he realized how pleasant it actually was; of course the easiest way to spend time with Malfoy was when they weren’t talking. They read for a while, before Malfoy nodded toward a couple students entering the library.

“I think breakfast is over,” he murmured, glancing down at his book to finish a paragraph. “We should head to Professor Babbling’s office, yeah?”

Before he could answer, a voice interrupted.

“Scum,” one disdainful boy called from a few tables over, where he and his friends had settled. A girl to his right sneered at the two of them, but Harry didn’t miss the way she blushed when looking at Malfoy. No matter how much they apparently hated him, it didn’t stop them from being caught in the allure. Served them right, he thought, and surprised himself with how vicious the thought was.

Harry narrowed his eyes at them, but Malfoy just shook his head. “Let’s just go check these out, Potter. Don’t worry about it.” His tone was quiet but sharp, and there was something keenly focused in his eyes as he watched the group of sneering students. Harry acquiesced nearly immediately, wary of confrontation.

He’d barely managed to stand, stepping back to push the chair back in, when a muttered tripping hex caught him. Harry watched, startled, as Malfoy tipped backwards, his wings spreading and beating furiously once to keep him upright. Harry paled a little when the feathers went scaly again, and hoped Malfoy had firm control of that veela temper he’d heard so much about. Madam Pince squawked behind them, but Harry ignored her, throwing a hand out across the table to grab Malfoy’s. He pulled Malfoy forward, keeping him from falling, and when they were both steady, he whirled around to face the students. His eyes locked on a grinning boy, who still had his wand out. He couldn’t be older than fifth year.

“You do that again and I’m going to have your hide,” he promised through gritted teeth, enunciating every word to make sure he was understood. The girl who had sneered at them went pale. “You keep away from him, and if I see you throwing hexes at students again, I’ll make sure you’re in detention for a week.”

“You’re not a prefect,” the boy stammered, unsettled, grin slipping. It was almost brave that he wasn’t backing down, even though he was clearly wary of Harry and his eyes kept being drawn to Malfoy the longer he looked in their direction.

Harry wasn’t the sort of person to intimidate or boast, but it took a huge chunk of his maturity to refrain from saying something about how he defeated a dark lord once and shouldn’t be underestimated.

“No, but my best friend is,” he said instead. “And she’s not going to put up with that shit either, got it?”

Malfoy wasn’t saying a word; he just stood there with a tight jaw, eyes blazing, and when Harry finally turned back to him he handed Harry the two books and stalked toward Madam Pince’s desk. Clawed hands slid their books in her direction.

“I’m sorry for the disturbance,” he muttered to her while she checked the five books out. She looked at him over her glasses, then her eyes slid to Harry.

“I can see that it wasn’t your fault, thanks to the ruckus Mr. Potter made,” she said, no less stern, and left it at that. Harry picked up their books, muttering an apology.

Harry followed Malfoy out of the library, wincing at the silence. He’d expected it to continue all the way to Babbling’s office, but Malfoy surprised him by speaking up almost immediately once they were in the hallway again.

"You didn't have to do that," he told Harry quietly. He wasn't looking at him. Harry frowned, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. Malfoy seemed almost resigned, and Harry didn't understand why. Just a moment before Malfoy had been trembling with anger.

"Well, I said I would," he replied after a moment, pausing where Malfoy had at the foot of the stairs. "I promised yesterday I wasn't going to just stand around anymore, didn't I?"

Malfoy laughed shortly, but there wasn't any humor in it. He finally met Harry's eyes, his expression carefully neutral. His arms were crossed – probably to hide his talons. "Frankly, Potter, I didn't believe you." His eyes hardened a little, as if daring Harry to complain.

He was never good at resisting bait. "You didn't _believe_ me," he repeated. He wasn't angry or hurt, necessarily, but he was certainly confused. "Why not? I know I fucked up last semester, but I still told you -"

“Potter, we called a truce _yesterday_ ," Malfoy snorted. "You want me to up and trust you at your word, after seven years of animosity and a semester of neglect? I know the animosity was mutual, but it doesn't a best friend make. I was more than prepared to continue looking out for myself."

"But..." Harry realized he was probably on thin ice, but he couldn't just let it go. "We _did_ decide to try and be friends, didn't we?" He was sure 'friends' wasn't necessarily the word used, but it was the easiest way to describe the agreement.

Thankfully, Malfoy didn't argue the point. "Friends, sure," he sighed. He took a deep breath. "Potter, even with your friends, you can't just trust them right away, can you? Especially if they've wronged you. Trust has to be earned."

"Sure, and I get that," he continued, beginning to get frustrated. He had plenty of experience with people not thinking he was trustworthy, but it still burned. "But it's not like I _betrayed_ you."

Malfoy took another deep breath, but Harry could see a growing irritation in his eyes. They were very expressive - no matter how much Malfoy kept off his face, his eyes usually gave him away.

"First of all, you're playing off how shit it was of you to just stand aside. I thought we'd been on... perhaps not good, but decent terms after the war, right up until you just watched as people treated me like shit. And, while we're on it, I don't think you understand how much you've been letting slide," he ground out. "It's not a couple innocent tripping jinxes in the hall, Potter, and it's not just me. The entirety of Slytherin house is getting it. I know three younger students failing at least one class because their assignments get ruined by other students. Pansy got hit with a hex last week that causes painful boils you can't spell away, that burst at random intervals. We had her in a hot bath for three hours, and she cried in pain for the entire time."

Harry's mouth was dry, but Malfoy continued on.

"Nott's little brother completely abandoned his family during the war so he didn't have to join Voldemort, but he still finds dead things shoved into his bag after class, and people tell him he's Death Eater scum every day." The words became more and more mechanical, as if he were reciting a list. "A first year tried to kill herself because the friends she'd made on the train told her during one of their classes that she was going to be evil, just like Voldemort, because she’d been sorted into Slytherin."

"I -"

"It's not your responsibility to watch out for everyone, Potter," Malfoy interrupted, his eyes molten silver in a way that was less alluring and more threatening. Harry remembered something about veela throwing balls of fire when angry and tried very hard not to react. "But you should have said something. Granger does, but not everyone listens to her, and they rarely do it where teachers can interfere. If you spoke up more often, maybe they'd listen. And hell, even if they didn't, at least you wouldn't be backing them up anymore! Because that's what it is. When you let people get away with things, when you don't say anything, they think you're on their side." He met Harry's eyes. "I thought you were on their side."

"I wasn't," he whispered, and was almost surprised by the hot twist of shame and guilt in his stomach. He hadn't realized how bad things were - but he was starting to realize how little it mattered. He really should have said something.

It was almost more surprising that Malfoy smiled, albeit a bit dryly. His eyes still blazed, but with every deep breath he seemed a little more in control of the veela. "I know that now, maybe. Or I'm learning." He shrugged, and a bit of the heavy atmosphere between them eased up a little. "I'm just making a point. Inaction can be just as bad as taking part in things sometimes. Think a little, Potter."

"I feel awful," he admitted after a moment. It felt strange, to say something like that to Malfoy, who'd always been at the bottom of his list of people he could show weakness in front of. Then again, Malfoy had shown him plenty of vulnerability himself. His wings were proof of that.

"I wasn't trying to make you feel bad," Malfoy snorted, and then laughed a little when Harry gave him a flat look. "Okay, maybe I was. Just a little."

Harry managed a small smile. "Well, maybe you needed to," he said, and it was the truth. "Look, we're on the same side now. We can work on the trust thing, and hopefully I can make it up to you - to all of you. But for now..."

"We should get to Babbling's office," Malfoy finished, and Harry nodded, gesturing toward the stairs.

"After you." 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE FOR OLD READERS: This chapter is ENTIRELY NEW. The old chapter 4 is chapter 5 and so on.

"Professor Babbling?"

Malfoy poked his head into her office, wings more or less hidden, and swallowed when she waved him in. Nothing was given away on her face, but she was making it a point not to stare at Malfoy directly, so Harry figured she'd been informed of the situation. It had probably been difficult to miss the spectacle they made of themselves at breakfast, anyway.

"I wanted to talk with you a little about how you want to work out meetings for me to turn in classwork and discuss any necessary issues," Malfoy explained, perfectly polite. He wasn’t smiling, or even warm, but his tone was professional. Babbling nodded, and gestured toward the chairs in front of her desk.

Malfoy sat down, almost subdued, and Harry thought it was probably a good thing. When Malfoy got worked up, Harry was noticing, his allure tended to get stronger. He didn’t know the right way to describe it – he could usually feel it, on the edges of his consciousness, but nothing overly pressing. It was almost like an aura, or a gravitational pull without any force, until Malfoy got upset or excited and it _thickened_. It was like a light mist becoming the worst English humidity had to offer.

“I haven’t given the matter much thought,” Babbling said frankly, sliding her reading classes down her nose. “I was only recently informed of the situation, of course. Since most of the work in this class is translations and readings, I assume that you can do the work on your own if I give you a schedule. You can bring me your work at the end of each week, and we can go from there.”

Her tone booked no arguments, but it sounded like a fair deal to Harry, who hadn’t taken Ancient Runes in his life. Malfoy nodded immediately. “I was going to suggest something similar,” he agreed. “And I was thinking, for my project at the end of the term –“

Harry would admit to zoning out when they began discussing Malfoy’s project, mostly because it seemed entirely boring and not at all relevant to himself. Being Malfoy’s body guard didn’t mean he had to care about his course work, and he really didn’t. Hermione had been trying to instill an interest in Ancient Runes in him for years and had yet to succeed.

He tuned back in at Malfoy’s “Thank you, Professor,” and the subsequent nudge Malfoy gave him. It was a little more unpleasant than the standard friendly nudge, given the pointiness of Malfoy’s elbows, but Harry chose to wince and take it with dignity, ignoring the small smirk Malfoy aimed at him.

It was Harry’s turn to follow Malfoy into the hall, but once they got there, Malfoy just stopped and turned to him. A wing brushed Harry’s arm when he pivoted.

“Well, I have no idea what we’re meant to do now,” Malfoy admitted. “That takes care of one class, but I still have four more, and we need to get your coursework as well. I suppose it’s a matter of wasting time until after dinner and hoping our professors don’t have many detention students.”

Harry shrugged. “We could always just go back to our rooms and work on what we already have,” he suggested. He didn’t particularly want to do that, but… “I know I have an essay or two to write.”

Malfoy sighed, but nodded. He looked particularly defeated, which had been his default state for the entire year. At that moment, however, Harry wasn’t too concerned about it. “I didn’t want to go hole myself away, but needs must, I suppose,” Malfoy conceded. They began heading back to their rooms, and Harry made a mental note to call a house elf for food. He knew he was hungry, and Malfoy was bound to be as well.

“At least tomorrow’s Saturday,” Harry offered. “We can go bother professors all day if we have to, and we’ll have more time to work things out.”

Malfoy, almost surprisingly amicable, nodded in agreement. “That is true. Perhaps it’s a better idea than going tonight.” It was quiet for a moment, and then to Harry’s surprise Malfoy picked the conversation back up. “My biggest concern is Potions… a lot of the work is practical. I feel as though we’ll have to go in and brew for Slughorn to fill his requirements. That’s not going to be easy, especially for partnered work, since we’re in different sections. We’ll have to do my potion then yours, and it’ll take twice as long.” There was a heavy sigh, and Harry looked over at Malfoy’s resigned expression.

Harry nudged him gently. “At least I’m not in the habit of blowing up potions anymore,” he said, and was gratified when Malfoy laughed. Self-deprecating humor was always the way to go with him, Harry thought, a smile tugging on the corner of his mouth.

“Yes, well, everyone has to learn some time,” he snorted, expression more open than Harry had ever seen it. He looked – Harry just knew that somewhere, a pig was flying – genuinely friendly. “Always knew you had it in you, Potter. They don’t call you the chosen one for nothing.”

Harry looked down, grinning at the unexpected humor. He’d never thought Malfoy’s constant making fun of him would translate into good-natured teasing, but he found he didn’t mind it so much in this context. He’d been friends with the Weasley twins, for god’s sake. He could take friendly teasing. “You know,” he said thoughtfully. “We could always go get some food from the kitchens. Essays can wait.” Not that Malfoy would recognize it, but to Harry it was a proverbial olive branch, a white flag. If they were going to be friends, Harry had to make an effort.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows, pausing on his way down the stairs to give Harry his most incredulous look. Harry had a moment of tensing, wondering if perhaps he’d misjudged Malfoy’s intent to actually play at friendship. Instead, Malfoy said, “You know how to get into the kitchens? _How_?”

Harry laughed a bit, relaxing again, and knocked shoulders with him as he passed, leading them away. “Maybe I’ll tell you about it over breakfast,” he said, and Malfoy sighed loudly as he followed.

“I can see I’m being manipulated into this,” he grumbled, but he went along willingly enough. “Do you really know all about the secret passages? There were always rumors that you knew all the school secrets, and that you were being trained by Dumbledore and things like that. I always wondered how much of that was true.”

Harry had to tamp down the sickening urge to snap at Malfoy for even saying Dumbledore’s name, and the surge of guilt that came with it. Sometimes he thought he was over blaming himself for every death in the war, but then a name would come up and he would blacken inside again, as if his insides were painted with tar. What was worse was the bitterness he still had aimed at Malfoy, no matter how little of a choice Malfoy’d had in the events of that year.

Instead of voicing any of that, he answered Malfoy’s questions. “I don’t know all of them, I don’t think, but most. This is going to sound absolutely mad, but my dad and his friends had a map of the school. It had the secret passages on it, and it told you exactly where people were, with some exceptions.” Malfoy narrowed his eyes in Harry’s direction, and Harry grinned, pushing the unpleasant thoughts out of his mind. “And the lessons were a thing, but it wasn’t magic lessons or anything. Just learning about Voldemort’s past and talking strategy, mostly.” He very purposefully didn’t say Dumbledore’s name, not wanting to encourage discussion about him.

“That’s… absolutely ridiculous,” Malfoy griped. “Don’t you also have an invisibility cloak? Is there any advantage you didn’t have?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Says the man whose father bought his entire Quidditch team Nimbus 2001s.” To be fair, it had been a donation and Malfoy had tried out on a perfectly normal Cleansweep. That was one of very few points Harry had to concede in Malfoy’s favor: in Quidditch, at least, he was there on talent instead of money.

“You got a Nimbus 2000 for free! From a professor!”

They bickered good-naturedly (flying pig, Harry reminded himself) until they reached the kitchen entrance. “Alright, then.” Harry nodded at the portrait. “Tickle the pear.”

Malfoy stood there with a look on his face that implied Harry was quite mad. He smiled serenely. “You want me to tickle a portrait,” Malfoy said flatly when Harry didn’t say anything, and he nodded indulgently.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Just give it a good tickle.”

Malfoy shuddered. “That had better not be a euphemism,” he grumbled, reaching one luminescent hand out to lightly wiggle his fingers over the body of the pear.

It took everything Harry had in him not to laugh at the way Malfoy jumped when the pear wiggled a little and turned into the door knob.

“Did that fruit just giggle at me?” he asked, sounding awfully wretched for someone who was about to get food. Harry just chuckled himself and opened the door, waving Malfoy through. “No, seriously, Potter –“

Harry marched in after him, making sure his wings didn’t get caught in the entryway, and closed the door behind him. “You know, for a born-and-bred wizard, you still seem surprised by how weird the wizarding world is,” Harry pointed out, and Malfoy snorted, glancing around curiously at the bustling kitchens.

“Tickling fruit… it’s just not on, honestly. What’s wrong with passwords and blood-activated entryways?”

Harry paused. “Blood-activated… Malfoy, isn’t blood magic mostly illegal?”

He shrugged, settling himself at one of the tables. “Most old families have some sort of blood magic tied into their ancestral properties. There’s a couple rooms in the Manor that need blood to be opened. I don’t think it’s necessarily illegal so long as it’s not used in modern spellwork, or without permission. Wards and things like that are legal, but you need permission from the Ministry to put them up.” He waved his hand absently, uninterested. “I mean, as a Malfoy we’d probably never get that kind of permission for anything again, not with the Death Eater history, but the Manor already has them in place.”

It was probably petty, but Harry thanked Merlin for that. He didn’t trust Lucius as far as he could throw him.

“Well, that’d be counterproductive in a school with rotating staff and students,” he said, and Malfoy looked vaguely grumpy about it but nodded.

“That is fair. Good word, you’ve said several intelligent things today… I’m positively shocked by it, Potter, truly.”

Harry laughed. “You’re an arse, Malfoy, and you’re lucky I don’t leave you here to fend for yourself.” He settled in at the table across from him, and in a few minutes there was a minor feast spread out for them. He offered the room of house elves thanks, and immediately regretted it when they all said “it is no problem, Mr. Harry Potter sir!” in near unison.

Malfoy snorted into his eggs, which he was piling onto his plate in alarming quantities. When he saw Harry’s look, he frowned. “What? Increased appetite, Potter, keep up.”

“Veela thing?”

“Of course.” Harry was genuinely impressed by how gracefully Malfoy managed to maneuver a huge forkful of eggs into his mouth. “I have a book on veela that I got from Mother. I’m really starting to think I should give it to you to read. I looked through it a bit after you fell asleep yesterday, and it should be helpful. I’ve had it for months and never even looked at it. Good going, right?” He shoveled more eggs into his mouth with as much dignity as one can when stuffing their face with food. “Did you know my wings turn all scaly and sharp when I’m angry or threatened?”

Harry nodded, taking a sip of pumpkin juice. “They actually did earlier,” he said when he swallowed. “In the great hall. I’ve never actually seen it up close; the only other time was the Quidditch World Cup.” He paused. “You think you’ll get a beak too, if you get properly angry?”

Malfoy shuddered. “Merlin, I hope not. I’m not actually sure. I didn’t read the book that thoroughly, but there are a lot of differences between male and female veela. I focused a lot more on the behavioral issues when I was reading last night. Female veela have worse temper issues, for example, but from what I saw male veela have a lot of issues with protective and possessive instincts and what have you.”

“Possessive instincts?” he asked, stabbing a sausage with his fork. Malfoy sighed, clearly unhappy at the idea.

“Think shit boyfriend who always tells people off for looking at his girl, times a thousand,” he grumbled. “ _Apparently_. It applies to friends, and potential mates, and family – pretty much anyone the veela acknowledges as theirs. Gets worse with mates, though, to the point that veela can be kind of dangerous – though I don’t think that’ll be an issue you’ll have to deal with. Veela mates aren’t determined or anything; they’re instinctually and magically chosen through romantic potential and compatibility and all that rot, so I don’t see me having one any time soon. The most you’ll have to deal with is a little friendly jealousy.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think that won’t be an issue? Getting a mate and those instincts, I mean.”

Malfoy laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Potter, of the people I spend time around, who do you think is compatible enough and _interested_ enough in me to become my mate? Maybe before the war, when my name still meant something… but no, I don’t see it being a problem. I don’t think I could handle it right now if it was.”

“I can see how that would be really stressful,” he agreed softly, and Malfoy rolled his eyes.

“Don’t get all sympathetic now, Potter. It’s fine.” He sighed, setting down his fork. “This is honestly a ridiculous situation. But luckily, we have you! Who better to deal with ridiculous situations?” He grinned, though there was something almost brittle about it. Harry didn’t comment on it; he just grinned back as genuinely as he could while wondering if Malfoy was really as okay as he seemed. Harry hadn’t forgotten how upset he’d been the day before, how totally willing he was to suppress his nature.

“My whole life is a ridiculous situation,” he agreed, and the tension in Malfoy’s face eased ever so slightly.

The heavy conversation left them with a lull, and they finished breakfast quickly enough in spite of the truly shocking amounts of food Malfoy could eat. Afterwards, with another quick thank you to the elves, they went back up to their rooms. Once inside, Malfoy turned his attention to his school bag.

Harry sat down in the fireside armchair, and watched as Malfoy dumped his bag’s contents over his bed. “Sorting things out for classes?”

“Might as well,” Malfoy responded, not entirely paying attention. “You should do the same; it’s not like we need to keep it all in our bags anymore, is it? Might as well set up a proper work station.”

“You probably organize your notes with fancy bullet points and stuff, don’t you?” Harry snorted, and Malfoy just flipped him off. “You _do_. Why aren’t you and Hermione best friends, honestly?”

He didn’t miss the smallest twitch of a smile Malfoy did an admirable job of hiding. “Because the only thing we probably have in common is giving a shit about our studies?” he offered. “I’m sure there’s more to Granger than how much she sits around reading.”

“Of course there is,” Harry said, smiling a little at how non-antagonistic Malfoy was being. He knew there was a long way to go before he and Malfoy were proper friends, and far longer before Malfoy became friends with Hermione, if he ever would. But all day he’d been surprised at how likable Malfoy could be when he wasn’t trying to be rude, and he was starting to think that no matter how long it took, real friendship could exist between them. “We should do some decorating, too,” he added after a moment. “Put up some house banners or something like that. This place looks like a hotel room.”

Malfoy nodded. “I was getting that same feeling, actually. I don’t think I have any banners in my position, at least not here at school, but we could always go to Hogsmeade sometime soon. Merlin knows we have the free time.”

Harry winced at the reminder. “We’re going to need hobbies. Lots of them.” He paused. Really, it couldn’t be worse than being locked in a cupboard with a few broken toy soldiers. He’d dealt with much worse.

“I can always teach you chess,” Malfoy told him, a little absent, sorting through his notes and spare parchment.

Harry snorted. “I know how to play chess, Malfoy, so there’s no need to teach me. I don’t have my own set, though, so if you do we should set it out somewhere.”

Malfoy looked over curiously. “I didn’t figure you for a chess player,” he commented, and Harry would have bristled if his tone hadn’t been perfectly polite. As if he’d heard Harry’s thoughts, he continued. “You’ve always seemed like a very action-oriented person. Chess seems like something that wouldn’t keep your attention too long. Too much sitting, too much thinking.” The last part was clearly a tease, but now that Malfoy had explained his reasoning, Harry couldn’t even work up mock affront.

“I dunno, I’ve always thought it was kind of relaxing? Even the most action oriented person on the planet has got to need a sit-down every now and again,” Harry reasoned. “Ron’s a brilliant strategist, and he’s the one who taught me. I’m not awful but I’m nothing like him. You’re probably more like he is, so I’m sure you’ll beat me in ten minutes.” He exaggerated a little; he’d even beaten Ron a couple times, but he was mostly convinced it was sheer dumb luck.

Malfoy put the parchment in his hand down, looking at Harry with a calculating expression.

“Okay, never mind the organizing,” he declared after a moment. He walked around his bed to dig through his trunk, and pulled out a familiar marble board. “We’re playing. Best two out of three?”

Harry grinned and gestured toward the table.

 


	5. Chapter 5

A week later, Malfoy went missing.

Harry had woken up, expecting another boring day of homework and braving halls full of students to get to professors’ offices, only to find that his roommate’s bed was empty and his sleep clothes folded neatly over his trunk. Not missing then – just hiding, or perhaps spending time with his friends. Naturally, twenty minutes and an irritated Pansy Parkinson later, Harry was no closer to finding Draco than where he’d been when he started.

“He can’t have gone  _far_ ,” Pansy said when Harry finally threw his hands up and demanded to know who had kidnapped the little fucking nuisance. “Seriously. Draco’s not stupid; did you really think he was going to run off the way he is now?”

Blaise, sitting next to her at the Slytherin table, patted her consolingly on the shoulder, and turned back to his corn with a particular air of not giving a flying fuck.

“That’s all well and good,” Harry said slowly. “But that doesn’t tell me where he is.”

“I don’t know, Potter,” Pansy snapped finally – five minutes after his questioning her had begun to get less funny and more irritating on her end. “Surely there’s another way for you to find him that doesn’t involve yakking my ear off? He’ll come back. Just wait a bit.”

He spun, glaring, and stalked down the aisle to the door. There were a good many things he could do with a Malfoyless day, he thought as he stormed back upstairs in a snit, but the problem was that he didn’t seem to want to do any of them. He couldn’t stop freaking out about the fact that  _Malfoy was missing_ and no one else seemed to be concerned about it.

It took him whirling into their rooms and growling at nothing for a minute or two to realize that Pansy had a point. There most certainly was another way to find Malfoy without yelling at her, and he yanked the Marauder’s Map out of his trunk with perhaps a little more antagonism than usual.

Because the world loved to spite him, Malfoy wasn’t even on the damn thing. It took another three minutes about panicking over the idea of a Malfoy who had clearly run off into the Forbidden Forest to become one with his giant bird self or something of that nature before he smacked himself in the face and shoved the damn map back into the trunk.

“He’s in the fucking Room of Requirement,” he sighed, and pulled himself to his feet. He was almost at their portrait before he hesitated. Something told him he probably wasn’t in the Room of Hidden Things, and he had no idea what else Malfoy would use the room for. There was no way he would be able to get inside of it.

Determined to wait patiently until Malfoy returned (or until he convinced himself Malfoy  _had_ gotten himself kidnapped after all and started panicking again), he firmly planted himself at the small table in their “common” area and immersed himself in his work. There was very little actual homework to do, but plenty of reading and notes to take, which fulfilled his purpose of keeping busy very well. He almost managed to work through lunch, ignoring the food that appeared on the table curtesy of the house elves, except that the missing veela brought him out of it.

He’d meant to give a calm greeting, and instead exploded. “ _Where the fuck have you been?_ ”

Malfoy looked unfairly startled, considering he was the one shirtless and breathless and recently missing. He was just closing the portrait behind him when Harry had noticed him. “I – what do you mean, where the fuck have I been? And what have you done to your head?” Ah, that would be the nearly literal tearing out his hair he’d been doing.

“I woke up and I didn’t know where you were,” he said in a low voice, like it should be obvious – because  _it should have been obvious_. “My entire purpose in life right now is to make sure you don’t get mobbed, and I woke up to find you just poof, gone into nothingness. Which is just great, thanks for that.”

Malfoy had started to get angry, but by the time Harry was finished speaking, he was grimacing at the floor. “I didn’t mean to freak you out, Potter,” he said finally, after a long pause. “That was… not my intention. I just wanted to do something, and I wanted to get out and do it before everyone got up and caught me in the hall.”

“Well, you should have told me where you were!” he snapped, still steaming, and Malfoy finally snapped back.

“You’re not my fucking _mum_ , Potter! Sorry I didn’t ask permission before roaming the castle off my own adult free will.” He sneered, and Harry expected him to continue. To his surprise, Malfoy took a deep breath. “Look, I apologize for worrying you. I get that it’s your job to make sure I’m not mobbed. This is just something I do sometimes, and this morning I didn’t want to wait for you to wake up.”

“What did you do then?” Harry asked, and he meant to be disapproving but it came out curious.

He wasn’t expecting Malfoy to light up, coming in closer and sitting next to him at the table. “I wanted to see if I could fly,” he whispered, leaning in, and Harry’s anger evaporated.

The thing was, he  _understood_. It was perhaps the only thing he could think of that he wholeheartedly understood Malfoy on. He’d always thought that. Watching Malfoy in the air, when he didn’t think anyone was looking, was the only time Harry had ever wanted to spend time with him when he was younger, because Malfoy was the only person he could think of that just enjoyed flying as much as he did. Harry knew every inch of the smile on his face, because Malfoy was the only person who appreciated the wind and height and freeness like Harry did.

“Can you?” he choked, and Malfoy nodded quickly, like he couldn’t contain it. Harry glanced to the side, just enough to watch as Malfoy’s wings extended, fluttering lightly, causing his papers to stir but no more.

“I went to the Room of Requirement, and it created this open space for me,” he admitted in a low voice.

“It’s still working then?” Harry asked hesitantly, not wanting to spoil the moment, but thankfully Malfoy simply nodded.

“The Room of Hidden Things is more like the Room of Charred Things now, but so long as you ask for another room, it’s all perfectly functional. I came back during lunch, so the halls would be mostly empty, and just hoped that I’d get lucky. I did.” Malfoy’s smile dropped just the slightest bit, but then it grew again. “You have to see – you won’t  _believe_. I don’t think I ever noticed how massive these things are until they were all spread out, keeping me in the air.” He laughed, sounding just a little overexcited, and true to course his allure was heavy in the air. Harry had to swallow before responding.

“That… okay, that I get,” he answered after thinking about it for a moment. “But don’t do that again, okay. _Please_ wait for me. Also, sit down and eat."

Malfoy ate like a starving man, and within half an hour he was dragging Harry toward the portrait and out into the halls. There was almost an incident involving Seamus and a wide-eyed Dennis Creevey, but Harry managed to shuffle Malfoy away without anyone getting molested, which he counted as a spectacular win on their parts.

It took Malfoy one try to get the room to open up, the door popping up almost as eagerly as Malfoy jumped for the handle.

“It is working again,” Harry commented needlessly, quietly turning in a circle, examining every angle of the room with its seemingly endless ceiling. He turned back to Malfoy, who was practically vibrating in place. Harry cracked a grin at him, waving him off. “Go on then, show me your magical flying prowess.” He crossed his arms, mock unimpressed, and watched with no small amount of jealousy as Malfoy’s wings unfurled.

If Harry was being honest, he didn’t see how Malfoy could have missed the size of his wings. He didn’t even understand how Malfoy managed to walk around with them mostly pressed against his back, retracted and unobtrusive. His wingspan’s estimated fourteen feet may well have been fifteen fully extended, but Harry wasn’t about to go and ask to measure them.

He tried to prepare himself when he saw Malfoy’s wings twitch, but nothing really could have prepared him for the gust of air that hit him when they finally beat, once, then again, until Malfoy was shooting upward, too fast to follow.

A single feather was left behind, floating down from where it had been dislodged. Harry reached out and plucked it from the air, absently admiring the way it went from dark grey, nearly black, to a shimmering ivory at the tip.

“You’re not even  _watching_ ,” Malfoy huffed from somewhere over his head, and Harry glanced up at him. His wings beat to keep him in place, legs dangling a little in the air yet no less graceful looking for it. Evidently, the flying thing was instinctual – he barely seemed to be thinking about it.

He honestly didn’t seem to be thinking about anything but the most pleasing things. Pout aside, Malfoy’s eyes were bright, his skin glimmering, his hair casually messy. Even the things Harry had never found particularly attractive – his pointed chin, for one thing, or the sharp line of his nose – only helped his perfect features seem even more unnatural. Huge silver pupils seemed to practically swallow Harry whole, and for the first time, it really hit him that Malfoy was inhuman. A radiant, perfect being with quicksilver eyes and perfect skin and an ethereal smile.

Harry took a step forward.

“Potter?”

He came closer, humming lowly in affirmation. Even Malfoy’s voice was the perfect pitch, gently ringing in the large room in spite of the missing ceiling.

Malfoy’s eyes were widening, and they seemed larger than normal, but maybe that was the amount of attention Harry gave them. They were _perfect_. He flexed his hands when Harry was almost directly beneath him, just far enough away that he could still make out Malfoy’s face, and Harry noted absently that Malfoy’s nails had extended into real talons. Malfoy curled his hands into fists and pulled them both behind his back.

He made a face, seeming hesitant, and lowered himself to the ground, tucking his wings in.

The shimmer to his skin faded a bit, his pupils getting just a bit closer to their normal size. “Potter?” Malfoy asked slowly, cocking his head.

“Yeah?” he responded, tongue thick and difficult to move. He couldn’t look away, though some source of common sense told him he should.

“You in there?”

Slowly, he nodded, his eyes trained on Malfoy’s mouth, watching his lips move as he spoke.

“Was this a bad idea?” It was unlike Malfoy to be so unsure and quiet – almost gentle in tone - and it made Harry blink several times, shaking his head as if to clear it.

“Just a little… much,” he answered after a long pause, coming back to himself. “You don’t look very human when you’re in the air,” he continued. Malfoy looked stricken, but it was something he had to deal with, so Harry didn’t try to placate him. “Especially when you’re so happy. It makes you glow, a bit.” He met Malfoy’s eyes, but smiled a little dryly to show he was back to normal. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Malfoy muttered, and Harry realized a little too late that he might have ruined Malfoy’s one good thing about the whole mess.

“Not yours either,” he said firmly, then grinned and reached over to punch Malfoy lightly in the shoulder, priding himself on not going crazy again when their skin touched. “I’ll just need to work up a tolerance to your angelic self.” Malfoy was startled into a laugh, still looking rather unsure. “Really,” he insisted, quieter. Softer. “You don’t know how jealous I am of the fact that you can fly without a broom.”  _But maybe you always did need it more than me_ , he thought, and resolved not to say that out loud.

Malfoy got that look of his face that he always did when Harry did something he didn’t expect. “You’re jealous,” he repeated.

Harry shrugged, and wondered why he’d actually told him that. Well, it was already out. “A little, yeah. I mean – you can  _fly_.” He gave a little laugh. “You don’t know what I would trade for that.”

Malfoy bit his lip, cocking his head at Harry. “I don’t get you, Potter,” he admitted at last, and Harry shrugged, smiling at him as amiably as possible.

“I never got you,” he returned, and Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Are you going to fly some more?”

Malfoy glanced up, and nodded, turning a questioning look on Harry. He shrugged, and went to set himself up against the wall.

He spent the next half hour or so absently watching Malfoy fly around the room, occasionally brushing hair out of his eyes when Malfoy’s wings kicked up his messy locks. He was a lot less mesmerizing when he was just laughing, spinning and diving through the air like a child. Amusing to watch, maybe, but not hypnotizing.

When Malfoy finally came down, he plopped down next to Harry, breathing heavily, and knocked his head back against the wall. He was still grinning.

“By the way,” Harry started conversationally. “You might also at some point want to explain to Parkinson that you are not in fact missing.”

At this, Malfoy laughed out loud. “You went to  _Pansy_? Why on earth would you go to Pansy?”

Harry huffed. “You were missing and she’s your best friend; I thought you might have told her if you’d decided to just run out for fun.” His explanation, apparently, was even funnier to Malfoy, who just cackled like Harry had turned into a pygmy puff.

“And did she just tell you to fuck off the minute you tried to talk to her?” Malfoy asked, mirth clear in his eyes. Harry rolled his, unimpressed with Malfoy’s giggles.

“No,” he said. “She just told me it was my fault I’d lost you and then laughed when I asked if she knew where you were. Such a concerned friend.” Malfoy continued to snicker. “I mean, really. She wasn’t even vaguely worried. Does she not care about your wellbeing at all?”

Malfoy just kept grinning. “I like taking time for myself,” he answered, shrugging. “Pansy’s used to it.”

“She’s used to you just taking off?” Harry asked, then sighed. “Malfoy. Did you ever tell her where you were?”

“Why? It’s just easier if I don’t. That way, people don’t get temped to come find me.”

Harry sighed again, and rolled his head to meet Malfoy’s eyes. “You at least have to leave me a note, Malfoy. I’m responsible for you now! I was seriously worried when I woke up and you were just gone,” he said firmly, and Malfoy frowned at him, but he wasn’t done. “You  _have_ to let me know if you just disappear. I can’t just automatically assume you’re safe and okay, because there’s always a chance you won’t be.”

Malfoy’s mouth opened, and then he shut it again. “All right,” he answered, words short and clipped. But somehow, Harry knew that Malfoy understood.

“I need to know you’re all right,” he said, quietly, and somewhere in the middle of saying the words, he realized it was more than obligation that had worried him. He was  _legitimately_  worried about Malfoy. Then, even softer, “Draco.”

Malfoy blinked at him, mouth softening just a little bit. “Harry,” he said hesitantly, and there wasn’t anything to follow it, but Harry understood. “I’ll let you know.” Harry nodded, then looked away, up toward the missing ceiling. “Are you angry?”

Harry didn’t look back at him. “Not really. Not anymore. I was, but I was mostly, you know, panicking. Merlin, Draco.” He didn’t want the blonde to know how hard it was to say his name, but something told him that it would get easier the longer Draco continued to use his name as well.

“I’m sorry,” Draco murmured, and touched Harry’s shoulder lightly. The touch only lasted a moment, but it was enough to make Harry breathe deeply and calm down. He couldn’t say the allure didn’t have any good points.

“It’s fine,” he answered, shrugging. “Now that I know you’re alright. And that you won’t do this again.” The last part came out firmer than he thought it would, but he couldn’t say that he wasn’t still a little stressed out about it.

“If you don’t quit repeating yourself, I’ll go missing again tomorrow, Harry.”

But his tone only managed to make Harry laugh, and after a moment Draco joined in. “Don’t threaten me or I’ll tie you to your bed,” Harry teased, glancing back over, and Draco’s smile was almost blinding.

“Never knew you –“

“Don’t you even say it.” Draco cackled, and Harry just pulled himself to his feet, then offered Draco a hand. He took it, smooth skin a little distracting but not enough to make Harry daze again, and Harry heaved him up as well. He was heavier than he looked, but Harry figured the wings might have had something to do with it.

“Let’s brave the masses,” Harry told him with a small smile, and Draco nodded, grinning back. “Do you have a shirt in here? I mean, unless you want to go walking around all shiny and naked.”

Draco flushed. “I’m not  _naked_ ,” he hissed, but Harry just laughed at his response. “And yes, I have –“

He paused, glanced around, and groaned. “Shit.”

Harry made a face. “It went poof when you left the room the first time, didn’t it.”

“I’m going to assume so.”

He met Draco’s eyes, and within a second burst out laughing. “Okay, so maybe we should wait a bit before venturing back out,” he snickered, and went back to sit against the wall. Malfoy followed, crossing his legs on the floor facing Harry so his wings could spread out behind him.

“Oh, I don’t know. I think we could make it. Revisit the suit of armor idea, and you could probably handle the masses. Good luck charm, remember?”

“Everyone around me dies, remember?” The mood in the room dropped significantly, and before he could find a way to lift it back up, Draco spoke.

“That’s just it, though,” he said suddenly. “All this shit happened around you, but you survived. Your friends survived. You came out of all of it alive, even as a naïve first-year facing the darkest wizard in history. I’d call that luck.”

“Not everyone survived.”

Draco stilled. Even his wings were like stone for all they didn’t move. “How long have you been sitting on this, Potter?” he asked incredulously. Harry shrugged helplessly, suddenly lost, and Draco grimaced.

“Sitting on what?” he gave in when Draco didn’t say anything else.

Draco gestured toward him. “On  _that_. The guilt on your face when you said that not everyone survived. Surely you know none of it was your fault.” His lips, still lovely, were pressed together into a tight line.

“Well –“

“ _No_.”

It appeared that they were at a stalemate, Harry bewildered and Draco looking angrier and angrier by the minute. “Look, Draco,” he hedged. “I don’t know where this is going, but if it’s trying to convince me I didn’t do anything or something –“

“Very eloquent, Potter,” he sneered, but there wasn’t the same hatred in his eyes that normally accompanied the expression. “You listen to  _me_. You don’t get to pin all of that – you don’t get to pin that on you, alright? It doesn’t get to be all about you. You can’t carry the weight of a hundred deaths on your shoulders because you’re a reedy thing and you’ll collapse.” His wings extended a little as if in response to his frustration.

“I’m not that reedy,” Harry deadpanned, and crossed his arms with a subtle flex of muscle. Draco glanced up at Harry, who might have been shorter by two inches but was no less capable.

“That wasn’t my point,” Draco insisted. “The point is, you’re not the center of the bloody universe, Potter. The war – it would have happened with or without you.” There was a long pause, then Draco added, “There just would have been  _more_ death. The Order. The Weasels, probably. Granger, definitely. Me.”

Harry frowned. “I didn’t make that much of a difference.”

“No,” Draco agreed easily. “You didn’t. You never did anything especially incredible, Harry. You didn’t get nominated for the Boy-Who-Lived position because you were some extraordinary something. But you got saddled with it and you dealt with it, which is a good deal more than anyone else would have done, and you did your best with what you had.”

He paused, and made a face. “I can’t believe I’m saying this – Potter, the deaths weren’t your fault. You did enough. There wasn’t anything more you _could_ have done to prevent it. Whoever you’re thinking of. If it hadn’t been them, it would have been someone else. It was  _war_. Death is inevitable; we know that firsthand. That doesn’t mean it’s on you, no matter how much everyone wanted to make it your job to save everyone.”

“How long have you been sitting on  _that_?” Harry asked quietly, peering up at him through his lashes.

“Long enough.” He sighed, shoulders hunched as he played with a thread on his slacks. “It’s funny how much I can hate you and still complain about how bullshit your life was. I spent most of school bemoaning your hero complex. You pissed me off more than any other person on the planet, but I still didn’t want you to  _die_ , and you kept going off, gallivanting around trying to fix all the evil in the world. It was exhausting to keep up with.”

They sat there, almost knee to knee, for a long time. It was a companionable sort of silence, while Harry mused over what Draco had said. Finally, he exhaled and looked up.

“You did enough hero-work of your own, you know.” He nudged his foot forward to tap Draco’s leg. “What you went through, trying to keep your family safe. Protecting me, even though you hated me and everything I stood for.”

“When did I ever protect you, Potter?” he snorted, side-eyeing him.

Harry shrugged, but he took it a lot more seriously than Draco was. “You and your mother both did. You both lied to protect me. You refused to name me at the manor, even though I  _know_ you recognized me. Your mum lied right to Voldemort and told him I was dead, in the forest. I owed you both quite a lot during the war.”

Draco was quiet for long enough that Harry worried he’d gone too far, that Draco wouldn’t want to talk about him or his family. “I could have named you, you know,” he said instead. “I wanted to. It would have been easier for me – would have avoided the beating I got, just because I wasn’t helpful. But I got close enough to tell if it was you or not, and I saw your eyes, and I saw that you honestly thought I would do it. You  _honestly_  thought I would give you to that monster, and I was sick at the idea that I could be that person.” He gave a shaky laugh, and crossed his own arms, curling in on himself a bit, his wings tucking just a bit tighter. “I didn’t want to be the reason a classmate, someone I’d grown up with, was dead. So I said I couldn’t tell.”

“I used to think you were such a coward, Draco, and maybe you can be, but you can be brave, too. I didn’t expect that,” Harry told him quietly, a little confession that had Draco releasing all the air in his lungs and hanging his head. Clearly, he’d come into the conversation expecting to lecture Harry, and hadn’t expected it to turn around on him.

“I’m not brave, Potter. I wanted to be – I wanted to be like you, unafraid to put myself in danger to save the world or whatever, but I’m not. I’ll hide and run to protect myself, and that’s not brave at all.”

“You think I wasn’t afraid?” Harry laughed out loud, and Draco glanced over at him, startled. “Malfoy, I was terrified. All the fucking time, just constantly terrified. It’s not being afraid that defines bravery. It’s acting in spite of that. I know how scared you were – I saw it loads of time sixth year.”

He realized that it was probably a little harsh to bring that up when he saw how Draco tensed beside him, unconsciously leaning away. Sighing, he continued. If Draco got to ramble blunt inspirational rants at him, he could do the same.

“You were scared  _shitless_ , and it doesn’t make you any less brave, because you still tried to do whatever you could to save your family. You’re never going to be some great warrior, but you’re still more than the sniveling kid you think you are.”

Draco shuddered, just once, and got to his feet. “You’re a sap, Potter,” he said, feigning lightness, and just like that, he’d closed himself off again. He looked down with his gorgeous, unfathomable eyes. “Come on. Let’s just go back to our room,” he added, quieter, and took Harry’s hand gently to pull him up. When Harry was standing, Draco let go, but the warmth remained in a way that had nothing to do with the spark of allure. Perhaps, Harry thought when Draco opened the door and led them back into the hall, he hadn’t closed himself off as much as he’d originally thought.

In the stairwell, Harry stopped and peered at him. Draco glanced away, making sure no one was around, and brushed blonde wisps of hair away from his face in confusion when he looked back at Harry. His wings fluttered lazily behind him. Harry was a little concerned with how easy it was to admit how beautiful Draco was, when just a day ago it had been so reluctant.

“Thanks,” he said simply, and Draco’s mouth twitched. He turned away without replying, but he knocked shoulders with Harry when they were side by side again, and that was enough.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Living with Draco, Harry found, was a surprisingly easy job. Draco was neat where Harry was messy, generally funny and almost always brutally honest. They cohabitated with an ease neither of them had expected, but neither objected to.

Draco was also still a snarky prick, and got on Harry’s last nerve half the time. A lot had changed in the months since the war ended, but his attitude hadn’t. He might have stopped fighting back against the rest of the school, but it didn’t stop him from arguing with Harry at any given opportunity, or trying to rile him up. It was like he was testing the boundaries between them. 

“Hey,” Harry said, pulling on his shoes a couple days after the flying incident. “I’m going to go spend some time in the Gryffindor Commons for a bit. You wanna come with?”

Draco was studiously working on an essay, and didn’t even pause. “Nope.” He popped the ‘p.’ “I’d rather stare down a basilisk.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You do remember that was an actual threat our second year? Not at all something to joke about?”

“Who says I’m joking?”

He gave up, and pocketed his wand. “I’ll be back in a bit… try not to run amok or whatever it is you do when I’m gone.” Draco waved him toward the door, but he did so with a quick grin before turning back to his essay. Harry slipped out into the hall, nodding at Sir Geraint before he wandered his way up to the tower.

Harry felt bad for leaving Draco to do homework in their room alone, but once he was curled on a sofa in the Gryffindor Commons, he relaxed enough to let go of that. He had really missed spending time with his friends, and even though he was quickly starting to count Draco amongst them, it couldn’t replace his best friends of almost a full decade, even if they weren’t all around anymore.

The Gryffindor Common Room was just as warm and inviting as always, with a roaring fire to warm the February chill and the light chatter of students. He’d always loved sitting down there with Ron and Hermione, and that hadn’t changed, though he didn’t technically live in the tower any longer and Ron wasn’t there.

Ron had taken the offer to join the Auror Corps early, and Harry had been happy for him. Harry, however, had started leaning more toward healing nearing the end of the summer, and by the time he’d had to make the decision to go back to school or not, he’d crossed out the possibility of auror work entirely. He’d come back to Hogwarts and signed up for classes he’d need to be a Healer, and that had been that. Ron had been disappointed they wouldn’t be together in training, but it was for the best.

Hermione was sat on the floor, back propped up against the sofa Harry was sitting on. She was writing their response letter to Ron, who sent them letters every other week, and absently updating Harry on the goings-on in Gryffindor drama. Most of the room was empty – apparently, Dean had detention for a prank he pulled on Terry Boot, and most of the other boys had gone down to Hogsmeade for dinner, which meant they’d be out late. Half the girls had gone with them, and the remaining students were either in the dorms or at the study tables on the other side of the common room. The area by the fire was left to him and Hermione, who habitually claimed the space for their own enough that they were left to it.

He looked down at the letter she was working on. “Have you told him what’s going on? With Draco, I mean?”

Hermione looked up from the parchment, where she’d been re-reading some of the personal bits, and glanced over at him. “No, actually. I figured it might be best to let you take care of that,” she answered, and laughed a bit when he made a face. “He’s got more important things to worry about than whether you’re making new friends. And for the record, I think it’s very mature that you and Draco are trying to get along.”

Harry grinned a little. “It’s not that hard, when he’s not being a pompous arse.” He fiddled with the hem of his shirt before sighing. “He’s really not that bad of a bloke, I’m realizing. We’ve called a truce.”

“Like I said,” Hermione hummed. “Very mature of you two. I was a little terrified this whole mess would end in fights and broken noses, but you seem to be getting on alright.” She looked entirely focused on folding the letter so they could send it off, but her jaw was tilted slightly toward him indicating that she was still listening.

“He’s had a really shit go of things in the past few years,” Harry told her, picking at a loose thread on the sofa. He pulled the pillow next to him onto his lap so he could tuck himself into the corner, still facing Hermione’s spot on the rug. “It’s hard to kick him while he’s down, you know?”

Hermione made a face at him. “I wasn’t telling you to. I was  _congratulating_ you on acting like an adult.”

“No, I know – I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant…” He trailed off, and sighed. “I don’t know what I meant. To be honest, it still feels a little weird to be friendly with him. Or maybe it’s weird because it’s _not_ weird. Have you ever wondered what it’d be like if we didn’t hate each other on sight and all made an attempt to get along? This thing with Draco, it’s like I’ve hated him for years and am just now finding out I really didn’t need to.”

“He needs a friend,” Hermione offered. “And now that he’s willing to be one, it’s not that hard. He’s making an effort, too, and that makes all the difference.”

Harry stretched out, shifting until he was comfortable, and stared into the fire with a shrug. “Honestly, I think we owe each other a little friendship at this point. I don’t think we can really go back to being strangers, and we never managed real neutrality. The only way to go is up and all that.”

Hermione hummed in response, and he looked from the fire to her. Now that the letter was done and ready to go, she turned to face him, propping herself up with an elbow placed on a sofa cushion.

“He really is trying, though. You wouldn’t believe what he said to me,” Harry said after a moment. “I’ve had a lot of talks about the war. I’ve had a lot  _with you_ , even, but this took the cake.”

“You’re telling me Malfoy had a heart-to-heart with you about the war?” She sounded reasonably skeptical, but Harry just nodded, expression a little unsure. There was so much emotion between him and Malfoy, most of it bad, enough that it really hadn’t surprised him that Draco had such a vehement opinion on his part in the war. He’d just never expected that opinion to be what it was.

“Gave me shit about feeling guilty over things at first,” he started slowly. “Then told me I had a hero complex.”

“Funny heart-to-heart.” She was starting to look a little irritated, most likely on his behalf, but Harry just smiled a little crookedly.

“Then he told me that the war wasn’t my fault. I did the best with what I was given, but it wasn’t all my fault and it wasn’t all about me.” He shrugged when Hermione looked over at him, her expression hesitantly approving. He grinned at her after she narrowed her eyes at him. “It sounds harsh now, but I think it was what I needed to hear. Who knew cold hard truth was something I needed?”

After a long moment, Hermione’s eyes warmed, and she gave him a small smile. “I don’t think I ever would have said you’d be good for each other,” she said thoughtfully. “But I can’t help but be grateful that he’s gotten through to you on that front. Who knows – maybe Malfoy will prove to be a good friend.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say ‘ _that will be the day_ ’ out of pure habit, but refrained, because she wasn’t wrong. They’d let years of feuding put a wall between them that Harry had realized was unnecessary the very moment necessity forced them to begin tearing it down. He wouldn’t ever say that he was thankful for Draco’s veela nature, not when Draco was still having such an internal dilemma over it, but he  _was_ thankful for the opportunity to get to know him better.

It occurred to him while he sat there that he’d  _had_ the opportunity. He’d had months of it. He could have been talking to Draco  _ages_ ago, had he pulled his foot from his ass. Instead, he’d sat around and made faces to himself while Draco got hexed and sneered at by the entire school.

Merlin. He was an  _asshole_.

“By the way,” he said. “I should thank you, on Draco’s behalf.” He paused, trying to find the words, but in the end just sighed. “I really cocked up the first half of this year. I should have been the one to defend him when people started messing with him, but I wasn’t. So, thanks for doing what I should have been doing. And I want you to know that I’m not going to just watch it happen anymore.”

Hermione was silent for a long time, but when the tension started making him fidget with the loose thread again, she sighed and pulled herself up to sit next to his feet on the couch.

“I didn’t say anything about it because it was Malfoy, and I didn’t want to start a fight,” she told him, folding her hands in her lap primly like she was gearing up for an argument. “You’re right; you should have been doing it. For someone who fought for equality, the fact that you didn’t say anything when Malfoy started getting harassed…” She trailed off with an expression that made it very clear to Harry what she thought. “I can’t imagine how it felt for Malfoy, coming back to school when not even the  _savior of the wizarding world_  would have his back.” She faltered, and looked down.

His stomach clenched with guilt. “I do have his back.”

“Now you do,” she agreed, but the way she bit her lip told him quite clearly that she wasn’t done. “I  _know_ that it was hard to separate death eaters and Slytherins, because we spent every year in this school learning that Slytherin house was evil. I do understand that, but sometimes it seemed like I was the only one who understood that Slytherin and evil really aren’t synonymous. The entire  _house_ is being treated unfairly, Harry. We can’t keep punishing them for what Voldemort did, or for what their parents did.”

Hermione’s nose wrinkled, still hating to say the name no matter how much she forced herself to, but Harry wouldn’t call her on it. Not everyone had the time and insight he did to really think about the name and why it needed to be said. Hermione might more than most, but it still wasn’t the same, and as a muggleborn it was more than understandable that her thoughts about it were a little different than his.

He couldn’t come up with an adequate response. “I know that,” he said weakly, but the truth was, he was really only starting to understand it.

“I hope you do,” Hermione said quietly. “Because Malfoy is only one Slytherin, and he’s not the only one who’s been having trouble. You thanked me for standing up for him… I stand up for all of them because it’s what’s right, and I don’t want you to stand up for Malfoy just because you care about  _him_. Does that make sense?” Her brown eyes were usually incredibly warm, but at the moment they were serious and dark.

“Yeah,” he answered, and took a deep breath. “I didn’t get how bad it was. I thought… I thought it was mostly just a bit of heckling in the halls, and I didn’t think it was my fight. We’ve always fought with Slytherin house, but I didn’t get until recently that it wasn’t the same.” He looked down. “I’m working on it, Hermione, I really am. And I will look out for them, because they need it. I’m not just going to stand around anymore. I promised Draco, and I’m promising you.”

She examined his expression, but eventually nodded slowly. “I’m not saying you need to be everyone’s hero, Harry. Maybe Malfoy has a point about that savior complex.” Her lips were turned upward. “I’m just saying that if you see something like that going on, you should say something. Everyone should. We shouldn’t just let the bullying continue.”

Harry nodded, and nudged her knee with his. “I know, Herm. You’re right.” And really, as someone who had spent most of his life being bullied in one way or another, he really should have thought about the situation like that before.

She smiled at him, still a little unconvinced but supportive as ever. “Anyway,” she said lightly, relaxing and purposefully changing the subject. “Why don’t you tell me how Malfoy’s really doing?”

He relaxed as well, no longer under fire. “He’s doing good, really – I mean, he’s quiet a lot, but he’s still sarcastic and he’s learning to get his wings under control.” He gave her a brief rundown of Malfoy’s various other attributes, supplemented with information he’d learned from Malfoy’s book. He’d finally borrowed it and while he’d mostly only skimmed it, he was learning a lot. “Still, I think he’s getting used to it a little more, which is good. And there’s not a lot of behavioral changes, veela-wise. He has this book he got from his mum that has loads of information about it, but Draco’s had it pretty under control.”

“Those will probably increase once he gets a little more comfortable with the creature instincts,” Hermione said, nodding along. “It’s funny, you’d think the new instincts would be harder to control when they’re new, but it wouldn’t surprise me if Malfoy’s been actively suppressing them. If he knows they’re coming and he’s still uncomfortable with being veela…” she trailed off, and Harry nodded.

“That’s what I’ve been thinking. A lot of them - possessiveness and stuff like that – also have to do with finding a mate, apparently, so it’s not something that’s going to be an issue for me, really. At least, that’s what Draco says, and he’s the veela.” He shrugged, hugging the cushion in his arms. “.”

Hermione cocked her head a little, confused. “Why wouldn’t it be an issue?”

Harry shifted a little in place, getting more comfortable, and ended up stretching one of his legs over Hermione’s lap. She patted it once but didn’t otherwise react to him using her as a footrest. She’d known him too long for that. “Well, Draco says that mates are chosen by instinct mostly, and magic that figures out if the person would be a compatible mate, right? He figures no one in Hogwarts would be genuinely interested or compatible enough for it to be an issue right now.”

Harry wasn’t surprised when Hermione’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline. He felt much the same way about it. “He does know he’s very, erm. Very attractive, right?” she asked, a little dubious.

He chuckled a little. “That’s what I’ve been thinking, but he seemed pretty sure. Either way, I figure it’s best to keep an eye out for any weird behavior. The more comfortable he gets with me some of that possessiveness is sure to pop up, anyway. Veela are really protective of people they consider theirs, aren’t they? Even friends and family, not just mates.”

She agreed, and they moved on to other topics. In the week and a half since he and Draco had been saddled with each other, he hadn’t gotten the opportunity to spend a lot of time with Hermione, and he appreciated the opportunity to sit down with her and chat about what was going on.

As much as he was coming to enjoy spending time with Draco, it was still nice to talk to someone who really _knew_ him. It also helped that Hermione missed Ron as much as he did, and had gone with him when he left school the year before. Draco knew the stories, and had plenty of his own, but it was Hermione that he’d shared tents with and starved with and went on the run with. They’d always been close, but there was a bond that had developed there. Often since coming back to school, Harry had felt like it was just him and Hermione against the world. They’d seen things no one else had seen – even Ron hadn’t been there for all of it. 

Eventually, though, students trickled in and Harry knew he’d stayed long enough. While he’d love to spend more time with Dean, Neville, and his other friends, he’d already been out for several hours.

“C’mon, Harry,” Dean grumbled. “We never see you anymore, unless you’re shuffling Malfoy around the school. Stay for a bit.” He threw himself in an armchair as he spoke, dropping his bag on the floor.

Harry grinned at him, but got up. “It’s not my fault you and Boot got a detention, mate. I was here the whole time.” He patted Hermione’s shoulder when he was properly upright, then set the cushion back down and stretched. “Got to be getting back, though. Leave a Malfoy alone and you’ve no idea what he’ll get up to you.”

Dean sighed when he stood but huffed a laugh at his words, as if to show that he wasn’t actually mad at Harry. “Fine, but don’t think you’re getting out of spending more time here. I know you’re the savior of the wizarding world and all that, but I didn’t think friends had to schedule _appointments_ to see you –“

“Quit whinging,” Harry laughed, and shuffled around the table just enough to kick Dean’s leg lightly. “I haven’t disappeared. I promise I’ll come by again soon, okay?”

“Fine, arsehole,” Dean retorted in good humor.

Hermione rose to give him a hug, and he squeezed her shoulders a little affectionately. “Seriously, I’ll come back to hang out soon, yeah?”

She nodded, unworried. “Of course. And don’t forget to write Ron soon, okay? It’s up to you to tell him about the Malfoy thing or not, but he’ll probably get mad if you don’t tell him, so…”

“I got it, I got it,” he agreed, letting her go, and gave the area a quick glance to make sure he didn’t leave anything behind. “Alright, bye!”

Dean gave him a little wave as he left, and he slipped out the portrait hole and back into the hallway. It was mostly empty, and he meandered back to his and Draco’s room in no rush.

“Welcome back, lad,” Sir Geraint greeted him. He had a piece of his armor in his hands, polishing it enough to see his face in it. Harry wisely chose not to comment.

“Thanks,” he answered, giving him a friendly smile. He’d learned long ago that it was good thing to have the portraits on your side. When Geraint grinned in return, he added, “Deus ex machina.” The portrait swung open with barely a hum in response.

When he walked in, he was met with Draco’s back, sitting facing away from him at their study table.  

“Harry?” Draco’s voice sounded odd, an uncertain edge that made Harry stiffen in worry. Had he done something?

He slowly approached the table. “Yeah,” he answered, hesitating before crossing to see Draco’s face. His eyes were trained on his hands, mouth open and pink. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

Draco looked up at him, blinked twice, and a smile started spreading at the corners of his mouth, the shimmering of his skin taking on a rosy tinge. “Harry,” he whispered, then made a sound that might have been half a laugh, shoving his hands forward into Harry’s face.

He backed up immediately, reflexes causing him to avoid the hands coming at his face.

Immediately, Draco huffed another laugh and reached out, grabbing his arm. “No, you imbecile –  _look_.” He held his hands out again for Harry to peruse, wiggling each long finger.

“Yes,” Harry said questioningly. “You have hands. Lovely hands, too, I’m sure, but –  _shit_.”

Finally, he realized what Draco was trying to show him, and he took Draco’s hands in his, turning them over and examining them. They were surprisingly strong looking in spite of his thin, delicate fingers, with veins that rose ever so slightly through the thin skin beyond his knuckles. His nails were neatly filed – but not at all sharp, and his skin, though still a pretty peach color, no longer glimmered.  _Shit_.

His head snapped up to meet Draco’s eyes, and he grinned back, squeezing Draco’s hands. “The glamour. You clever bastard, you figured out the glamour!”

Draco nodded quickly, his smile widening. “It’s just the hands, see –“ He pointed with one hand to where the skin slowly started to glimmer again on the opposite wrist. “- but I’m figuring it out. I’m  _finally_ getting somewhere.”

Harry kept grinning, helpless against the force of Draco’s glee, and when the blonde laughed again like he couldn't believe it, Harry laughed, too. “This is amazing,” he said, and when Draco met his eyes and let out a breath, Harry knew he’d understood the underlying meaning.

_I’m proud of you._

“I thought I couldn’t do it,” Draco told him breathlessly, and it occurred to Harry that Draco was opening up to him. It felt important that Draco was telling him about something he’d been unsure about. After the talk they’d had in the Room of Requirement, Harry had been sure they were becoming friends, but Draco’s admission felt like proof.

“Why? Draco, you’re brilliant. Of course you could do it,” he told him, when Draco paused, unsure. Encouraged, the veela continued.

“It felt like something was blocking it,” he explained, and glanced back down at his hands, which he let slowly fade back into veela shimmer. His nails thickened again, just slightly pointed. Harry wondered if he’d tried trimming them since he’d come into his inheritance. “Something was tapering this part of the magic. It was like every time I tried to cover it, something inside of me just panicked and said I couldn’t. But it’s finally relaxing a bit, letting me figure it out.” He exhaled softly and a bit of a trill whistled into it. It made Harry grin to hear it. He knew Draco had been suppressing it, and it was definitely progress that he’d stopped doing that at least for a moment.

In the past week, Draco had been working on trying not to separate his veela traits and himself, focusing on accepting that even his “inner veela” was still just him. It was something the book has suggested, and Harry had a feeling that taking that step forward had been what had helped Draco overcome his block.

“Well, the glamour is veela magic, isn’t it? You’re a little more at ease with being veela, so maybe the better you get with that the better you get at that magic,” he suggested, and Draco shrugged, still smiling, just a little. “Either way, this is great, Draco, honestly. Amazing,” he said again, and Draco turned that smile back on him.

“Thank you,” he answered, and Harry could feel the sincerity. Then, his grin turned mischievous, and he added, “It’s about time you realized how incredible I am, by the way. If you’d like to keep expressing your amazement at my talent, I’d be alright with that. If you want.”

Harry snorted and pushed back from Draco, pulling out a chair to sit with him. “You wish, mate,” he told him, and Draco laughed under his breath.

“I’m just really looking forward to being normal again,” Draco murmured after a minute or two of Harry trying to decide if he wanted to actually work on something or laze in front of the fire. Harry immediately dropped that line of thought and glanced over at him.

Harry knew a lot about trying to be normal.

“You’ll never will be,” Harry said quietly, and Draco’s light expression slipped into something a little darker. His eyebrows pushed together, eyes betraying the tentative hurt Draco was clearly trying not to feel. Harry gentled his voice, and continued. “Honestly, Draco. None of us are  _normal_. You never were, and I never was, and I don’t know why you’d want to be. And if it’s about the way you look –“

“Like a freak,” Draco interrupts, eyes narrowing. There wasn’t a lot of conviction in it – but though he knew Draco was aware that he was attractive, Harry also knew that there was a very real disconnect between the veela attributes and Draco. What Harry thought made him even more beautiful made Draco uncomfortable with his reflection.

Really, he hated the word _freak_ more every day. “You really want to know what I think you look like?”

Draco just looked at him, unblinking, wide silver eyes demanding answers.

“I think you look like an angel,” he told him with too much honesty. Harry wondered for a second if he was revealing too much, but maybe it was something Draco needed to hear. Emboldened, he continued. “You’re almost stupidly attractive, Draco. No matter how trite this sounds… the veela shit makes you different, but it also makes you unique. Different isn’t bad.” He sat back and ran a hand through his already messy hair, examining Draco’s expression as it goes through a myriad of emotions – confusion, flattery, pride, more confusion, something soft that he can’t put a name to.

“But me is a freak,” he said again eventually, and there was something dark and ashamed in his eyes. The vulnerability in his voice nearly killed Harry. The Draco he’d known had always been so proud, so sure of himself. This Draco hid it well but there was a shaken foundation underneath the attitude. “ _Me_ is less than the pureblood everyone expects, less than my parents always wanted. I came out wrong.”

Harry would always wonder just how badly Lucius had treated Draco in his childhood, but he decided at that moment that he really didn’t want to know. He didn’t need more reasons to hate the man.

“You’re not _wrong_ ,” he told Draco in a low voice, and he turned so he was entirely facing him. Draco glared down at the table, arms crossing defensively. Harry hated watching his wings shudder and know that he had caused Draco’s agitation. “No, listen to me. You don’t owe it to anyone to be a perfect little pureblood. You don’t owe it to your parents, or our classmates, or anyone. You owe it to  _you_ to be who you are. You don’t have to be normal, or whatever you think you were. You can be extraordinary and incredible. You can have wings and talons and still be the same brilliant Draco Malfoy. You’re not less. You’re  _more_.”

Draco’s glare was more of a watery stare, and after a minute he ducked his head, one hand coming up to wipe furiously at his eyes. “Where’d you learn to give pep talks, you oaf?” he asked, his voice rough. Harry just smiled at him, a little too softly for even his own comfort.

“You’re fantastic, Draco,” he said gently. “I like your skin and your wings and your eyes just the way they are. You don’t have to change to be yourself. Just because you’re not exactly the way you were doesn’t mean you’re wrong.”

“Would you shut up?” Draco moaned, and Harry knew that the pep talk time was over. He also knew that Draco’s exaggerated groaning was a sign that he’d listened, and that he understood what Harry was trying to tell him. Harry might have needed Draco’s borderline rude wake me up, but what Draco needed was support and encouragement that Harry was more than happy to give.

They worked well as a team, he acknowledged, and laughed when Draco gave up on his groaning to pout at him.

“God, I almost miss the days when we hated the sight of each other’s faces. Come on, you prat,” Draco sighed when it seemed like Harry was just going to keep chuckling at him. “We can work together on these Potions essays. Mine needs more in depth information, but I can help with the base of yours.” It was one of only two classes they had together that year, yet somehow Harry couldn’t remember why he’d ever felt  _glad_ they saw each other so rarely.

“Yes, sir.”

“Quit snarking me.”

“Never.”

They exchanged small smiles before turning away to shuffle through their respective homework stacks.

 


	7. Chapter 7

By the end of their third week together, Harry was realizing that doing their schoolwork entirely over correspondence wasn’t easy, even living in the same castle as their professors.

Draco was doing better than Harry was, predictably, but as they walked back from a meeting with Sprout, there was a tightness to his mouth that made Harry frown as well. Sure, part of it was probably the way Professor Sprout had stroked his arm halfway through a conversation on what their next essay needed to cover, but Harry wasn’t so sure Draco was having an easy go of the actual work himself. Almost all of their practical work was replaced with extra essays and research, and what they had to do in person they had to make their way down to various classrooms at odd hours to complete.

Doing their work this way required more research and time, all of which got hard to keep up with when they had no focused classes to attend. Harry’s grades were slipping just enough to make him worry, especially considering that he needed to get Os on all five of his NEWTS to quality for his internship at St. Mungos. He wasn’t stupid by any means, but he definitely wasn’t a dedicated student. The semester was a new level of stress because of that.

Draco stayed silent for the rest of their walk back to their rooms, and Harry didn’t press him to talk. Still, he wished that Draco would, even if to just calm himself down so his wings weren’t held so stiffly or his back so tense.

“Deus ex machina,” Draco snapped when they reached the portrait. Harry traded a glance with Sir Geraint, who raised his eyebrow, but after another look at Draco’s frustrated expression he swung forward without comment. The blonde sulked forward into the room, flinging himself face first on to his bed.

Harry frowned at him, and pulled his sweater off so he could lounge comfortably. He felt familiar enough to go and lay down on Draco’s bed next to him, but he didn’t speak or touch the other boy. They laid there in silence until Draco huffed and flipped over with only just enough care not to hurt his wings when he laid back down on them.

“I hate that this veela shit has made this semester so difficult,” Draco admitted after a long silence. “I’m not used to having trouble with classes, but… it’s so frustrating. Not being able to attend classes is making everything harder than it has to be.” He stretched a little, the back of his hand coming to rest against Harry’s arm. It tingled with the contact, and Harry almost wanted to reach out and thread their fingers together. He wasn’t stupid enough to do so, especially considering the low thrum of allure-based desire going through him at the simple touch already.

He still didn’t pull away.

“You’re still doing well,” Harry said – not dismissively, but an attempt to be comforting. Draco knew him well enough as well to know it, and he sighed, turning his head to meet Harry’s eyes. “Don’t give me that look. You’re one of the smartest people I know; you can do this.”

“I know I  _can_ ,” he sighed. “I just wish I didn’t have to.” He huffed a little. “It’s just a little more challenging than I was expecting, and that’s not _fair_. I didn’t ask for this.”

Harry shrugged a little, and Draco kicked him lightly. He kicked back before settling again, all too aware that the scuffle had brought them a little bit closer together than before. He had to close his eyes and hold his breath for a second when Draco’s scent made him a little dizzy, but he was eventually able to push the allure out of his head, or at least focus around it. “You’ll be fine, mate. And you’re getting better at the glamour; soon enough you won’t even need to hide out anymore.”

Draco grinned a little, and raised a hand in the air. With a wiggle of the fingers, the shimmering stopped, though it still only reached his wrists. “I can do it quicker,” he said, his shoulders relaxing. “I’m hoping I’ll get better at it faster once I’ve got the hang of it.” He paused, then huffed. “I still can’t make it go past my hands, though.”

Harry reached up to flick at his palm. “Beggars can’t be choosers,” he teased, and finally sat up.

Draco sat up too, and pulled his knees up. He wrapped his arms around his legs and rested his chin on his knee, still smiling a little. Harry slid off the bed, making his way over to the mountain of books and parchment on their desk. “I suppose not. Hey, Harry?”

Harry glanced over his shoulder. “Hm?”

“We should go to the Room tonight,” he said, and then added, “That’s not a question, by the way. It’s an order. We’re going.”

Harry laughed. “You don’t have to order me into it, your majesty,” he snarked, throwing another grin at Draco over his shoulder. “Let’s wait until dinner, though, so most people will be in the Great Hall.”

Harry sat down at their working desk, and pulled out a DADA essay. He vaguely waved a hand to acknowledge Draco’s murmur of agreement, and scanned over what he’d written down for the assignment. It would probably be a simple assignment – DADA papers were rarely more than a foot, and mostly practical stuff. Once he finished the essay, he could turn it in, demonstrate for Professor Goobling, and be done with it.

Somewhere during Harry’s musing, Draco got up and joined him, sighing lightly before pulling out a potion proposal for their potions class. It wasn’t an assignment Harry had, because their class was split into two sections, who shared the room to work individually on their curriculum. Draco’s group was much more technical than Harry’s was.

Harry got distracted easily by the snick of Draco’s quill against the parchment, and he gave up his essay as a bad job, instead sitting back and watching Draco work. He was so intelligent, Harry admitted, and though part of it was pride, a lot of the acknowledgement felt almost grudging. It was hard not to feel dull around people like Draco and Hermione. It felt like he was trading in one genius friend for another sometimes – always someone around to understand more than him, or to be more impressive. Harry, in spite of the Boy Who Lived thing, had never felt like a very impressive person.

The other part of his observation was admiration, however, and in the end it won out. “What’s your project looking like?” he asked, nodding to where Draco’s hand was still jotting down notes when the blonde looked up.

Draco glanced at him, and then back down at his paper. “We’re supposed to make a hybrid potion from two existing potions. And it’s supposed to do…  _something_ , though from what I’ve got here I’m not quite sure what it’s going to bloody  _do_.” He gave a little laugh, like Frankensteining a potion was something casual and commonplace for him. “I’m mostly just operating on a ‘what won’t explode when I put it together’ basis.”

Even Harry laughed at that one, remembering his own slew of exploding potions. Honestly, it was a wonder Snape hadn’t  _actually_  murdered him all those years. “How about you put something together to fix my eyesight,” he joked, pleased Draco laughed with him.

“I’ll get right on that,” he snorted. “Something like that would double my fortune.”

Harry shrugged. “You’re smart enough for it, mate, honestly. You could probably do it.” He paused. “Also, how are you going to do this without, y’know, actually brewing? I thought potions experimentation required actual potion-making.”

There was a huff. When Harry glanced back over at him, Draco was rolling his eyes. “You think potions masters actually just start throwing things together at random? There’s theory to prepare first,” he snorted. “Common sense, Potter.”

He nearly bit his tongue pulling back an automatic snappy retort. “I haven’t had to create potions like you have,” he explained, matter-of-fact. “My group doesn’t do extensive stuff like that – it’s mostly just brewing. All I need to do is make sure I’ll be able to brew things in a pinch.”

Draco’s expression turned inquisitive, eyes watching Harry appraisingly. “What are you studying for, anyway? I know you’re not going into potions like I am, or into the aurors with Weasel, but I still don’t know what you _are_ doing.”

Instead of answering properly, Harry couldn’t help but ask, “Is that what you’re doing? Potions? I’ve been wondering for ages what your plans were, because your classes didn’t make any sense. If you’re going for Potions, then why are you taking Divination and Arithmancy?”

Draco blinked at him. “I mean – I like Divination,” he shrugged finally. “And Arithmancy is helpful when creating potions. Numbers have magical properties, you know.” He narrowed his eyes. “You still haven’t said what you’re doing.”

“First of all, you don’t know how confused I was by your class schedule,” he said, and Draco sighed, clearly exasperated with his lack of answer. “Second, I’m hoping to become a healer.”

The funny thing was that Harry hadn’t expected Draco’s reaction. Draco looked downright shocked, his eyebrows practically shooting into his hairline, his pink mouth open. And yeah, maybe it was similar to Hermione’s reaction when he told her, but he still didn’t understand why everyone was so surprised.

“What?” he asked, shoulders hunching inward defensively. “It’s a perfectly valid career choice. You don’t think I’m capable?”

He hated that he was so insecure about the whole thing, because he _knew_ he could do it. No matter what anyone else thought, his grades had been really excellent until recently, and St. Mungos had already accepted his application to study with them after Hogwarts on the condition that he did enough on his NEWTS. He was sure they’d make an exception if he only got an E on one or two, but he didn’t _want_ to resort to that, especially in a field that demanded excellence for the sake of others. Part of the reason he hadn’t accepted the auror position was because he didn’t want to be handed jobs because he was Harry Potter. He was determined to work for it… but the longer the semester went on, the more Harry doubted he was capable, hard work or not.

Instead of agreeing, Draco surprised him. “Don’t be daft. I’m sure you’ll be good at it,” Draco snorted. “But I figured you’d… I dunno, teach DADA or something. Play professional Quidditch.”

At that, Harry relaxed and rolled his eyes. “I know I’m a way better seeker than you, Draco, but that doesn’t make me professional quality. And I don’t know if I could handle dealing with brats like you for the rest of my life if I taught, so no thanks.” 

Draco, grinning, was about to snark back no doubt when they were interrupted by a knocking sound, amplified throughout their room. “What the hell –“ Harry began, bewildered, but Draco stood.

“It’s the portrait,” he said, curious. “Get the door, Harry – who is it?”

Harry did as he was bid, getting up and wandering over to the portrait hole. He opened it just enough to peek out. “Hello?”

Parkinson slid into view, her arms crossed. “Hello, Potter. Is Draco in?”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, a little bewildered. “You can come in, if you’d like… I’d try to stay back, though. Allure and all that.”

She rolled her eyes, but nodded, gesturing for him to back up. He did, letting her through the entrance with his hands raised defensively. He’d never had much interaction with Parkinson prior to his arrangement with Draco, and he honestly still wasn’t sure how to act around her. She’d visited their rooms twice, but never for very long, and she tended to ignore Harry when she came. “Pansy!” Draco greeted her, his expression pleased. His wings, which had tensed a little when Harry let her in, relaxed and fanned out a little at her returning smile.

In spite of her pleasant expression, her foot was tapping against the stone floor. “Hello, Draco-love. I’ve a question for you.”

Draco’s smile twitched a little bit, sliding into a look of apprehension – not serious worry, but he was clearly on the spot. Harry wanted to snigger at the unsure expression on his face.

“It’s been weeks now,” Pansy began patiently. “And you promised me a journal for us to write to each other with, since we can’t see each other every day.” Harry bit back a smirk when Draco winced at the reminder. “And yet… I see no journal. And I’ve seen very little Draco. So I’ve come to demand what I’m due.” She paused. “You sod.”

Draco glared at Harry, whose smirk was clearly less hidden than he’d thought, and turned back to Pansy with a placating expression. “Sorry, Pans,” he told her, sounding genuinely apologetic. Harry knew that Draco hadn’t forgotten on purpose, either – they’d taken one small trip to Hogsmeade after they’d moved into their new room, and Draco had bought the journals then, fully intending to charm them. They’d probably gotten put in his trunk and forgotten about since then. “It’s been so hectic, and it’s only been me and Harry recently – hadn’t even thought about it.”

“It’s ‘Harry’ now, is it?”

Draco shrugged uncomfortably, wings twitching a bit. It was like they showed the nervous fidgeting his posh upbringing had forced out of him. “He’s kind of my only friend in this room, so of course we learned to be amicable –“

She cut him off with a sigh. “I don’t care that you’re friends, Draco. I care that I’ve not seen you in almost a month. You’ve had time to play nice with Potter here, but not enough to send me a blank book? Or invite me over for lunch more than once every other week?”

Harry let his smirk go, and went over to sit in the chair by the fire so they could talk. As funny as it was to watch Draco get yelled at – especially when he seemed genuinely contrite, so at odds with the arrogant can-do-no-wrong attitude he’d had in their childhood – he knew he shouldn’t stay in the middle of it. 

“I forgot,” Draco said, and he looked a little pained when he said it. “I’m really sorry, Pans.”

She softened at the genuine apology and honest answer, and deflated. “Alright, then. I’m just… I miss you, is all, you git.” In spite of the insult, it wasn’t harsh. “It doesn’t sit right that you can spend all your time with perfect Potter, but apparently I don’t have the _self control_ to see you. I’m your best friend, not him. If anyone should be trusted not to violate you it should be me, right?”

She cut herself off, aware she was starting to rant, and closed her mouth tightly.

“It’s not fair,” Draco offered. The look on his face made Harry feel slightly sick – some mixture of guilt and frustration and something darker. Harry watched him clench his fists, his visible nails darker and sharper than usual. “I’m… I’m sorry, Pansy.” He bowed his head. “Harry – could you leave? This is private, okay?”

He startled a little, but stood without complaint. “Yeah, of course,” he agreed, and he patted Draco’s shoulder as he passed. “I’m going to go read for Defense out in the hall, yeah? Just let me know when you’re done.”

Draco shifted away from his touch and waved him off, dismissing him with scowl, but Harry couldn’t even work up any irritation over it. Draco put up a front when he was upset about something; he reverted back to his you’re-not-worth-my-time attitude when he felt too vulnerable. He and Harry might have made friends but there was still a difference between how vulnerable he was comfortable being with Pansy versus Harry, especially with another person there. Even if he’d have been willing to talk to Harry about it, having Pansy there – who knew him and his vulnerabilities better than anyone – probably added a spotlight he couldn’t handle being under.

He slipped between them just long enough to grab his book off the table and slipped out the door, emphatically _not_ listening when Draco started talking in low tones.

Part of him wanted to go see if some of his friends back in Gryffindor wanted to do something, but it was really too late to ask. No way was he popping his head back into that room until Draco came out to get him.

With a lack of things to do, at least, he was able to focus on his book. He settled in against the wall, wincing at how cold the stone was, and set the book on his lap. He wasn’t as fast a reader as Hermione – who had been known to get through five hundred page books in less than a day with some determination – but he’d gotten considerably better the older he got. Maybe it was because he could actually focus on what he was doing in the moment rather than impending doom, but he’d improved enough that he had the assigned reading for that day finished in less than half an hour, and had already started planning his next essay in his head. 

Less than half an hour, naturally, was also enough time to push the limits of Pansy’s allure resistance.

“Young man,” Sir Geraint interrupted his reading casually. He sounded almost amused. “If you would like to preserve your ward’s virtue I would step inside now.”

He froze for a moment, twisting just enough to look up at Sir Geraint’s smirk, and then scrambled to his feet. He dropped the book to the floor, his fingers flying to pry open the portrait. He glared at Sir Geraint when he just raised an eyebrow.

“Really?” he hissed. “ _Deus ex machina!_ Now open!”

With a soft laugh, the knight did as he was bid, and Harry slipped into the room just in time to watch Draco go a little fuzzy the way he had when Harry had fallen on top of him that first day. It was the strangest thing – it was so similar, but there was still a hint of panic in his eyes that hadn’t been present when Harry had knocked him over. Pansy had her hands on his shoulders, her eyes closed like she was just breathing him in.

Harry didn’t stop to think about it. He rushed forward, slipping between them, and cutting Pansy’s line of view off with his own body.

“Parkinson,” he barked, a little more harsh than he’d meant to sound. “Snap out of it. C’mon.” Behind him, Draco pressed against his back, cooing softly into his neck. It took everything he had to push the fog away, even as one of his hands slid backward to cover Draco’s hip. “Parkinson.”

He locked their eyes, breathing a sigh of relief when she blinked in confusion, and then in disgust.

“Oh god,” she muttered. “That… that could have been a disaster.” She took several steps back, still grimacing. “I love you, Draco, but not enough. Definitely not enough.”

Behind him, Draco wasn’t even listening, and Harry made a face at her before wincing and turning to face Draco.

Being prepared made it a little easier to resist the huge silver pools of Draco’s eyes, and he carefully pried Draco’s hands off of his body, holding them just until he could step back out of range, to ensure Draco didn’t reach out again.

“Draco,” he murmured. “Come back, mate.”

Draco trilled softly, cocking his head and taking a step forward toward Harry. When he stepped back again, Draco just stood there for a moment looking distraught, until the call of his allure faded. Harry could feel the tension snap, the fog lifting, and then Draco’s pupils visibly receded.

“You alright?” Harry asked, and Draco nodded. It was still a little absent. “Sorry, mate. I know it fucks with your head as much as it does ours.”

Pansy watched them with a look on her face that told Harry she was starting to get why Draco had to move out of Slytherin dorms and in with Harry. “I should go,” she said softly. “I’m sorry, Draco.”

“No,” he muttered, starting to come back to himself properly. “No, I’m sorry. It’s me. This fucking veela thing.”

Harry hated the way his glazed eyes cleared to reveal the self-loathing just underneath the surface.

“Look,” Harry hedged, hoping he wouldn’t get on the wrong end of their wrath by interrupting. He prayed Draco wouldn’t kill him for this. “We were going to head to the Room of Requirement at dinner time, let Draco fly around a bit. How about you come with us? We could maybe look at charming a couple journals while he has his fun, and you can admire the wings with me for a bit.” Pansy just stared at him and he smiled weakly. “I mean… I’m suggesting a truce?” Better to play it off as wanting to make peace with Pansy himself rather than trying to make sure Pansy and Draco didn’t start avoiding each other.

There was silence for a long minute.

“It should be dinner time just now,” Pansy said flatly at last, and nodded toward the door carefully. Harry sighed in relief when Draco dug the journals out of his truck instead of arguing.

Pansy headed out, and when Harry went to follow, Draco put a hand on his arm lightly. It wasn’t, through his sweater, enough to really strike Harry with the allure, so when he turned around it was only with inquisitive eyes. “Thank you,” Draco said quietly. He didn’t elaborate.

“No need to thank me,” he said as nonchalantly as he could. “Too irresistible for your own good, mate. We should shave your head or something – bet you won’t be so pretty then, huh?” Draco’s mouth twitched upward, and Harry nudged their shoulders together, something in his chest tight that he couldn’t give name to.

“Are you boys even  _moving_?” Pansy asked, sticking her head back into the room.

“Coming, Pansy!” Draco called back, warmer and more relaxed than a moment before.

Pansy didn’t say much as they made their way to the Room, but she took the notebooks with a nod of thanks and willingly sat down next to Harry when they were safely inside.

“It helps to not look directly at his face,” Harry told her conversationally once they were seated and Draco was spreading his wings in preparation to take off. They started beating, lightly at first, and then harder. Harry hardly even paid attention to the ruffling of his hair in the generated breeze. It was more of a constructed calmness than anything, if he was being honest with himself. It was harder than he’d first thought, avoiding watching Draco closely, especially knowing how tranquil it was to just admire and be drawn in by his allure.

“Does it?” Pansy asked dryly. “Would you know from experience?”

He kept carefully casual, watching Pansy’s hands instead as she began charming the journals.

“Yeah, I would. The first time, I hadn’t realized how, well, Veela he’d look in the air like that, pleased as punch. He glows a bit when he’s really happy, you know. Nearly got veelastruck.”

It was almost funny as a memory, and he glanced up at Draco for only a second, smiling as he remembered Draco’s gentleness that day.

When he turned back to Pansy, she was watching him with a contemplative expression. He only caught it by a second before her eyes were guarded again. “You two are getting on surprisingly well,” Pansy acknowledged. “I thought you’d get into a fist fight at least once before calling it a draw.” Harry laughed softly.

“We’ve had enough fighting, I think,” he answered, trying not to be impressed by her quick charming as she set the notebooks aside. Draco needed to work his magic in, too, so they would recognize his writing, but Pansy’s half of the charming was clearly finished. “Besides, he’s not so bad a bloke once you get to know him.” He shrugged.

“I’ve never thought so,” Pansy agreed. “But I’ve known him since childhood, so I wouldn’t.”

Harry didn’t know what else to say to her, and the awkward silence reigned. He looked away, finding Draco as he pulled some complicated looping maneuver in the air. His wings weren’t adept at the quick turns he was used to on a broom, and he’d been practicing changing direction a lot recently, hoping to get better at it. He wouldn’t be allowed to play Quidditch at all because of the wings, not in any official capacity, but if he could get the turns down, Harry had no doubt he’d be demanding seeker games not long after.

“You seem genuinely fond of him,” Pansy said, words spoken slowly and carefully. He wrenched his gaze away from Draco with some minimal difficulty to raise an eyebrow at her.

“I said we’re friends, didn’t I?” he asked, and she just smiled a little, finally relaxing.

“I thought you were a better actor than I gave you credit for, for a minute there,” she admitted shamelessly, and when he laughed she cracked another grin herself. “But I suppose I can agree to your truce now that I can see it’s not an act. Draco’s friends are my friends and all that.”

With Draco flying above them, not quite happy but not as miserable as he had been before, Harry took her offered hand with a grin. “Harry Potter. Nice to not be your enemy.”

Her grin was sharp but real. “Pansy Parkinson.”

They shook.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Unsurprisingly, it was less than three days until Harry found himself following Draco down the hall toward the Room of Requirement again.

In spite of his recent progress, Pansy’s visit had definitely set back his mission to accept himself, and it was getting to the point that the only time he’d let go of the tension in his shoulders was when he was flying. It didn’t help that Draco couldn’t go anywhere without getting unwanted attention.

They’d made three attempts in the month since Draco had presented to eat in the Great Hall, all dismal failures, and the one time Draco had been spotted outside, he’d nearly been chased all the way into the forest by an accidental meeting with a gaggle of Hufflepuff girls. Draco had more or less been confined to his rooms except during the arranged meetings with his professors, and he wasn’t the sort of bloke to be happily cooped up.

Draco was practically jogging his way to the room, wings twitching in excitement every few seconds. Harry followed at a more sedate pace, a broom in one hand and his school bag slung over his shoulder. He’d brought it along on the off chance he’d actually get some schoolwork done, but Harry also had a letter to write Ron, considering that he hadn’t written his friend at all since he’d taken over the perilous job of Malfoy-watching. Hermione, on the few occasions they’d taken time to see each other, was getting on his case about it because it wasn’t, in her words, her job to speak for him.

“You’re not going to fly with me?” Draco asked once they were inside and Harry began rooting through his bag at a small table, which had been waiting for him when they walked in. Harry, still focused on his bag, shook his head.

“I will in a bit, but there’s something I’ve been putting off for a couple weeks now, so I should get that done first,” he replied, and when he glanced over his shoulder Draco was magicking off his shirt. When he noticed Harry was watching him, he tossed the shirt, materialized safe and whole in his hands, at Harry with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, while you do boring things, I’m going to…” He made a vague gesture at the open air above them and Harry rolled his eyes.

“I’ll meet you in the air in a bit, you sod,” he laughed, and Draco just grinned and took off.

Ron’s last letter to Hermione had asked what Harry was doing that he was too busy to write. Harry had, at first, expected that Ron would be too busy or too caught up in his new life to write frequently, but as it turned out, he was even _punctual_ about sending weekly letters, and he demanded to be kept in the loop in turn. That would be fine, if Harry had any idea how to say, “Hey, you know that Slytherin we’ve hated since we were kids that you swore you’d never forgive? We’re friends now! Ta, mate!”

He didn't think it would end well if he led off with that, but he didn't have any better ideas, either. If he skirted around the subject, Ron would call him on it in a heartbeat. If he just wrote that it was happening without any sort of explanation, Ron would start ranting - but there was no guarantee he wouldn't rant about it anyway.

Part of Harry felt bad for thinking so little of his friend. Ron wasn't as hateful as Harry's worries made him seem, but he did have a hot temper that Harry loathed to irritate, and it didn’t help that Harry hadn’t written in weeks.

Harry set out his parchment and a self-inking quill he'd bought in Diagon Alley before term started. Before he devoted his attention to the letter, however, he glanced up over his head at Draco.

Draco looked so unburdened in the sky, Harry thought fondly. There was no pretending his life was easy by any means, but in moments like these, it almost seemed as though Draco was above it all. With his wings unfolded and his eyes shut, relaxed and gliding through the air, he was above nearly everything around him.

He gave himself a mental shake and focused on his letter, plucking his quill from the table and beginning.

_Ron,_

_I'm glad everything is going well on the Auror front. I have no doubt you'll do really well on all your competency exams. I know Hermione keeps ragging you about studying the theory stuff, but it'll probably be practical, so my advice is not to stress too much about that._

_How is the family? I know it sucks to not live on your own, but living with George can't be that bad, especially since Molly thinks twice before barging in unannounced._  

Harry couldn't help but grin to himself. Over the summer, Molly had visited without warning George and wound up triggering one of his experiments. It wasn't anything major, but the ball she'd knocked into had exploded all over her. Harry was pretty sure it was supposed to be a gag loosely based on Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, but what it had done was turn Molly's skin fuschia for a week, and she'd been furious.

_I know this response is really late, and I could blame it on a lot of things, but mostly I’ve just had my hands full for the past month. Hermione’s kept me updated based on her letters, but it doesn’t save the fact that I haven’t written. Sorry about that._

Harry sighed, knowing that he was rambling. He half wanted to cross out the whole paragraph, but didn’t. He wasn’t much of a writer, and Ron knew that.

There was a gust of wind behind him, and then a body collided with the back of his chair. A pair of pale hands grabbed at his shoulders for support. Draco laughed a little, but with the wind came his scent, stronger with sweat and exertion.

“What are you working on that’s got your face all scrunched up like that?” Draco asked, leaning over his shoulder to inspect the page. “A letter to Weasley?”

Harry hated the way his muscles were relaxing without his say so, the way his head tilted back into Draco’s chest. He inhaled deeply, Draco’s scent catching in his throat on the inhale, and it was hard not to do anything rash, like kiss Draco’s exposed jaw.

On his shoulders, Draco’s hands squeezed and then slid forward a little, the pads of his fingers digging into Harry’s chest. Harry made a little sound, and finally the spell broke.

“Damnit,” Draco groaned, and when he wrenched himself far enough away Harry could turn to see his face properly, his cheeks were scarlet. Harry almost wanted to reassure him in some way, but it was hard to when his body wasn’t quite cooperating. He wasn’t going to admit to it, under pain of death, but there was a tight sort of heat low in his belly and he was sure his pupils were blown.

Draco met Harry’s eyes, shared a long look… and the both of them laughed. It was the most pleasant reaction he’d had to that sort of mistake in days. Harry thanked Merlin it had happened after flying had put him in a good mood.

“Sorry,” Draco giggled, and Harry couldn’t help another snort of laughter. “Alright, now that we’re done being massive idiots, what’s got you in such a state? Surely writing a letter to your best mate can’t be so stressful.”

He took a seat opposite Harry, wings fanned out and smile firmly in place. He made a vague gesture, encouraging Harry to share.

“I’m just…” he sighed. “I’m trying to explain what’s going on here, in a way that won’t have him in a full strop just because we’re friends now.” He winced, knowing how it sounded – Draco knew, of course, that Ron wasn’t his biggest fan, but it still didn’t make the reminder any less unpleasant. Harry frowned down at the parchment. “It’s stupid to get worried about, I guess.”

Draco hummed lightly for a moment. “It’s not stupid. He’s been one of your closest friends for damn near ten years. Of course you don’t want him to be upset that you’re making friends with someone he hates.” Draco grinned at him, unexpectedly. “It’s a solidarity thing. Like how Pansy hated you for years because I did.”

Harry couldn’t help but let out a huff of laughter at that one. “So your advice is…?”

The blonde shrugged. “Just tell him. He doesn’t have to like it, but if he’s your friend, he’ll get over it. It’s not like he’s around to have to spend time with me, either, so it won’t affect him much. If the thought bothers him that much, you might need to have a chat with Weasley about what hatred like that does to a person.”

Harry bit his lip, nodding. Draco was right – and he was stupid for worrying so much about it. Part of him wanted to laugh at the idea of him taking advice from _Malfoy_ , but the rest was beginning to trust him implicitly, and it won out.

“Go on,” Draco ushered with a roll of his eyes when Harry just started at the parchment. He spared a crooked grin for Draco, and picked up the quill again.

_So. What’s been happening here, to make me too busy to write. You’re probably not going to like this whole situation, but Draco’s a veela. I don’t know if that’s gotten out of Hogwarts, on the rumor mill or what have you, but it’s true. Draco’s learning to use glamour and to control the allure, but it’s a lot of work. Instead of sending him away from Hogwarts, or locking him away somewhere until he gets it figured out, McGonagall asked me to play bodyguard since I can sort of throw off the allure, like I do the Imperius. I agreed, because no one deserves to be locked up. Anyway, Draco and me, we’re getting on really well, and we’ve become friends in the last month or so._

_That’s pretty much all that’s been going on with me – following Draco around, and making sure he doesn’t get mobbed. He’s a good bloke, when you get to know him, but I’m not expecting you to become friends with him, so don’t get mad at me, yeah? It’s a complicated situation._

_I don’t have much else to say, to be honest, because my life really has been pretty boring here. No fun adventures, no dark lords. Just school, and an errant veela (ha!)._

_Tell me about what you’re doing in auror training, will you? I’ve been dead curious, but you haven’t said anything specific. Surely it’s not so great you have to hide it from me._

_Hope to hear from you soon,_

_Harry_

Draco was smiling at him with warm eyes, and Harry wondered to himself a little absently how Draco had gone from stone cold to this sarcastic, brilliant, person Harry now called his friend. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?” he asked smugly, and Harry rolled his eyes to hide how fond his thoughts were. Before Harry could respond, however, Draco dropped the smug grin, instead looking at him in curiosity. Harry wondered what he could be curious about, but he’d answer anything to keep Malfoy in good spirits the way he was. “Actually – I have a question, Potter.”

“ _Malfoy_.”

Draco’s expression didn’t change, but his lips twitched, fighting a grin. “Now now.” But he didn’t continue right away – he bit his own lip in a parody of Harry’s bad habit, reaching out to fidget a little with the strap of Harry’s bag. He didn’t look nervous, however, just thoughtful, like he was trying to figure out how to word something. “I wanted to ask you something. You’ve had to deal with my allure loads lately, and it just struck me as a little odd that you were so accepting of the whole situation.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed. “Okay… that’s not a question, Draco. And I’m not quite sure where you’re going with this. Did you think I was speciesist?” He wondered absently if that was a word.

Draco rolled his eyes. “No, Harry – but according to Pansy, some of the blokes around the school have been frankly rude about the possibility of getting caught by my allure, on account of being straight, and me being a man.” He shrugged. “You haven’t really reacted to that part of this mess at all. I figured, for a little while, that you were just secure in your relationship, but then I realized you haven’t spoken about Weaslette the entire time we’ve been trapped in this daft little situation.”

When Harry didn’t respond, Draco pressed on. “Are you and Weaslette even still together? Or have you just not thought of the whole sexuality aspect at all, and just been focused on the do-gooding? Or…” His eyebrows rose and waggled a little.

Harry blinked at him, honestly surprised by the turn of the conversation. Whatever he’d expected Draco to ask, it hadn’t been that – but the same time, he wasn’t even remotely bothered by the question. “I mean… Ginny and I broke up before the war. We never got back together after, because she decided to go on a study trip in Romania with her brother instead of coming back to Hogwarts.” He shrugged, unaffected, and when Draco opened his mouth with a pitying sort of expression, Harry interrupted. “Really, I’m not upset by it. I haven’t brought it up because it’s not a big deal. We’re still friends.”

“Alright…” Draco said slowly. “But then, do you just really not care about the whole me-being-a-man thing? I know you can throw off the allure, but it’s not… disconcerting, at all?”

Harry thought about it, because frankly, it wasn’t something he’d ever really taken into consideration. “Well… I suppose that bit never occurred to me. And besides, I don’t really have a preference between men or women or what have you. I dated Ginny because I liked her, not because she was a girl. I really just don’t care one way or the other.” He raised an eyebrow at Draco, who looked a little surprised he’d given the information up so easily. “You gonna go run to the Prophet with that?”

Draco’s eyes narrowed for a minute, and then he sighed and relaxed, apparently deciding getting huffy about the accusation was too much work. “Of course not. Besides, it’s not like anyone will care too much. I know you grew up Muggle, but the Wizarding world doesn’t care so much about things like that, so long as you provide an heir in some way.”

Harry didn’t miss the slightly bitter tinge to his words, and he let his gaze meet Draco’s, whose chagrined expression told Harry he realized what he’d given away.  

There was a long pause before Draco spoke again.

“I am.” He looked at Harry with those big, guileless eyes. “Gay, that is.”

“And…” Harry encouraged gently, his tone as amicable and non-judgmental as he could make it.

“And the only reason it matters is because of the whole providing-an-heir thing.” He shrugged, like it didn’t bother him, but it was obvious it did. “It’s not like it doesn’t matter to me, because I don’t want the family line to die out or anything, but I’d rather be happy than pretend to be with some woman just for the sake of an heir. So, I'm just saying that I obviously don't care what you do with your life. I'm not one to judge.”

Harry nodded in understanding, trying not to show his own surprise at Draco’s willingness to share. They’d done a lot of sharing in the past month, and Harry would never stop being surprised by the inherent trust in the way Draco offered information about himself. He’d been more and more forthcoming recently. “I’d rather you be happy, too,” he agreed. “Do your parents know?”

Draco nodded. “Father’s not happy about it, but at the same time, there’s not much he can do. He can’t force me to marry a woman, and he’d rather let me adopt a child or take a ward to inherit the family name and fortune than disown me and have no one to carry on all the hullaballoo.”

It was more than Harry had expected from Lucius, not that he’d say it aloud, and frankly, the casual reference to his family’s good name and fortune as “hullaballoo” was surprising as well. He wanted to ask when Draco had stopped thinking those things were important, and decided against it. The answer was probably the same as it was for all the major changes in any of their lives: the war. “I’m glad you’re not being forced into anything, then.”

It was as if Draco had been testing him, and he hadn’t known it until Draco gave him a small, pleased smile. “As am I.” Another pause, this time filled with a clever smile and glittering eyes. Draco was mildly difficult to look away from. “Now, will you please come fly with me?”

Harry grinned at him, glad the serious talk was over and, at the same time, glad it had happened. “Aww, is ickle Dracikins –“

“Don’t even say it,” Draco interrupted, glaring, and Harry laughed. “Flying alone gets boring after a while. There is only so much one can do while flying in a little room by themselves.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, finally. He rolled up his letter to Ron, putting it in his bag with a mental reminder to mail it off later. Draco grinned, and the only warning before he was in the air was a big gust of wind and the flapping of wings, sending Harry stumbling backward from the force of it. “Prick!” he called up, but his only response was laughter.

Harry grabbed his broom, left leaning against the small table, and mounted it quickly. He kicked into the air, following Draco.

It wasn’t the smoothest flight, in spite of being indoors – the wind he had to fight against outside was replaced by the artificial wind caused by the beating of Draco’s wings. “You make this so difficult,” he called, and Draco swooped a little as if in response. His enjoyment was infectious, and Harry swooped with him, flying closer. He maneuvered delicately, flying upside down underneath Draco’s lazily drifting form. He grinned up at Draco, who pulled away with a laugh.

“You seem to be doing alright,” Draco teased once he was upright. “Look at him go, the boy wonder!” Harry reached out and swatted at him ineffectively, but Draco gave him a smile for his efforts anyway. “You make me want to play Quidditch again,” he admitted after a moment. “I haven’t played in so long.”

“We can play, you know,” Harry said, raising his eyebrows. “I don’t know how likely it is you’ll play  _well_ , with those great monstrosities on your back, but we can play.” He winked to show he was kidding, and was slightly relieved when Draco didn’t take offense.

“I’d like that,” Draco agreed, lazily rising up a few feet and dropping down again. He grinned a little every time his wings caught him in freefall. Harry watched him, half-distracted by the shimmer of his skin, the sheer radiance of his happiness. He looked brighter, when he was happy, in a visible way. Bright eyes and bright skin and bright wings, a bright package that made Harry want to just watch him idly, entranced.

He shook off the traces of allure that made him loosen his grip on his broom in his distraction, but – almost surprising, even to himself – the overall thought stayed. Draco was beautiful, in many ways, but his happiness made him more so. It might have even explained why Harry had never realized it before; how many times had he seen Draco happy before they’d become friends?

“We should definitely play together,” Harry said, determined. “It’s fun. I used to have loads of seeker’s matches with Ron, though he was shit at it. You’d be way more fun to play with.” He didn’t say it to purposefully butter Draco up, but he couldn’t quite regret it when the words made Draco visibly preen. He hummed, clearly pleased, and Harry had to tighten his grip on his broom and back away a little in the air to avoid the urge to  _get closer_ when the hum came out nearly a trill.

He said nothing about it, determined not to ruin Draco’s good mood by getting veelastruck, and just grinned when Draco smirked at him.

“What you mean is,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “I’ll be a  _challenge_. And you know I will be. I won’t let you win, just because we’ve become friends.”

Harry shook his head in faux exasperation, but it was mostly an excuse to hide his charmed smile, one he couldn’t quite keep off his cheeks. “Don’t be cheeky,” he said instead of a real response, and when Draco laughed, he nudged his broom downward and took off, flying under Draco and away into the seemingly endless ceiling. Draco, as Harry knew he would, followed.

 


	9. Chapter 9

 “You know,” Draco drawled from his bed, where he lay on his belly, head propped up on palm. “I thought there would be an awful lot more adventures when you signed up to be my bodyguard.”

Harry looked up from yet another essay and raised an eyebrow at the blonde, who huffed at him. “You’re disappointed?” Draco shrugged his shoulders, muscles bunching and shifting as his wings moved with him.

“It’s just strange that no one’s tried to kill you yet this year,” he grumbled, pouty and reminiscent of the child Harry had grown up hating. Instead of getting angry, however, Harry found himself wanting to laugh. He’d take bratty Draco over self-loathing, angry Draco any day.

“You’d think it’d be a good thing that there’s been no attempts on my life,” he replied lightly. “Should I be offended at your nonchalance? I’m sure I could  _arrange_ for someone to try and kill me, but I was rather enjoying the uneventful year.”

Draco sighed, message received. “It’s not that I want you to  _die_. It’s just that there’s nothing to do except homework and write my mother – and I don’t want to do that, either.”

Harry had heard that rant before, and pressed his lips together to stop his smile. “Mm?”

Draco sent him a dirty look. “She keeps wanting to discuss  _heats_.” Harry turned his face away, but he knew Draco would see his shaking shoulders. “Quit laughing!” he hissed, sliding off his bed, putting his hands on his hips. "It's not funny, Harry. She keeps wanting to discuss personal matters and sex, neither of which I want to discuss with my mother."

Harry couldn't help but giggle out loud at that, and Draco sighed. "You can't deny that it's something you need to think about it, you know."

"No, actually, I don't," he grumbled. "I don't need to think about it at all. If it even happens -"

"Which it will, because that's how your biology works –“

“- it’ll just happen.”

Draco glared at Harry like a petulant child, but Harry just quirked a smile in his direction. “It’s not that big of a deal, Draco. It’s normal and natural.” Not that Harry was the official authority on these sorts of things, but he  _had_ done a little research in the past month. He’d been aware from the start that there might be things Draco was uncomfortable thinking about, let alone researching himself, and he’d taken it upon himself – with Hermione’s help – to familiarize himself with them. There wasn’t much information about male veela, though, since they were admittedly rare, and what Harry did have seemed to be written by third party observers rather than actual veela.

Most of Harry’s researched information was about  _dealing_ with veela than being  _about_ veela, but some of the information was at least sort of helpful.

“It’s not that big a deal to  _you_ , Mr. Boy Wonder,” Draco snapped. “You had a girlfriend and status and plenty of girls willing to fuck you on the regular, I’m sure, but you might have missed the fact that there are approximately three gay people we know in this school – me, and your friends Thomas and Finnegan, who are shagging each other. Add in the fact that after the war, no one outside of Slytherin will even deign me worthy of a smile, and…” He threw his hands up, grimacing. “I haven’t had sex with anyone, and now I’m told that biology will force me into  _heat_ , and roofie anyone nearby into it, too.”

He might have been laughing at Draco’s ire before, but he certainly wasn’t then. He could understand Draco’s discomfort.

“You know it’s not really… it’s more of a rut, than anything,” Harry said semi-reassuringly, after a long pause. His cheeks were a little pink with embarrassment, but he pushed forward. “You’ll just be a little more… eager, than usual. And it only happens a couple times a year. Nothing is going to force you into anything. I wouldn’t _let_ them.”

Draco didn’t say anything. He just met Harry’s eyes, clearly unsure, and Harry’s insides twisted with thought.

“I wouldn’t ever let anyone hurt you,” he said, no trace of their earlier good humor in his voice. “I swear to Merlin, Draco. I’d hurt myself before I let that happen. I wouldn’t hurt you and I wouldn’t let anyone else do it, either.”

Draco bit his lip, and then averted his eyes. Clearly avoiding showing he was comforted, said, “Say  _rut_ again.”

Harry rolled his eyes. He grabbed one of his rejected essay drafts, crumpled it into a ball, and lobbed it at Draco’s head. “Look, I’m just trying to help. As your  _friend_.”

Draco huffed, his smile slipping a little. “Yeah, and as my friend, I hope you won’t mind when I say that you don’t really know shit about me, so I don’t want to talk to you about my prick.” He crossed his arms, feigning an air of nonchalance, but there was something actually troubled in his eyes. “I mean…” Draco gave a short little laugh. “Sure, we’re getting along. But do you even know my favorite color, Potter?”

Harry recognized the last name as what it was – a way to distance himself. And, apparently, rightly so, because Harry didn’t actually know the answer to his question. “Erm…” He winced. “Green? Or… silver, maybe?”

It was the wrong thing to say, judging by the way Draco’s usually open, expressive expression shut down. “Slytherin colours. Typical. I suppose your favorites are red and gold?” he sneered the last part, but Harry only turned slightly pink; red  _was_ his favorite color. He made a short, unhappy sound. “It’s blue, Potter. Royal blue.” He ran his hand through his hair, the waves curling at the end.

Harry had never known before that Draco did his hair to hide the curl. In his struggle to find something to say, he fixated on it, the way that when Draco’s hair was long, it actually began to spiral at the end, which he’d never seen before he’d moved in with him behind the picture of Geraint.

Then, it hit him.

“No,” he began slowly, and Draco looked at him reluctantly. “I didn’t know your favorite colour. I don’t know your favorite food, either, or your favorite book.” He met Draco’s gaze. “But I do know how stressed out you get when you overthink things all night, and I know where you go to run away from people. I know how close you are with your parents, and how you don’t always like yourself as much as you should. I know how close you are with your friends, and I know I am one.” He shrugged lightly, trying to seem like he wasn’t making some intense and probably overly dramatic declarations. “I may not know small things, but I know  _you_. That’s more important.”

There was a long silence.

“You’re a sap, Potter.”

But his combative tone was merely tired, and he came over to the table with a sigh. “I just don’t want to talk about it, all right? It’s not that I don’t trust you. Or… think of you as a friend.” He collapsed into a chair, looking distinctly grumpy but no longer borderline upset. “I just don’t want to talk about it.”

“You don’t have to,” Harry said finally, admitting defeat. “And I’m sorry for pushing it.”

Draco managed a wan smile. “You’re forgiven.”

Harry let his shoulders relax. Hesitantly, he began to speak. If he was going to upset Draco by getting personal and invasive, he could at least share his own personal information to get them back on even footing. “Besides, it’s not like I’m much better off than you with the sex thing. Experience-wise, anyway. Ginny and I fooled around a bit, but there’s nothing like constant distraction from a dark lord to kill the mood.”

Draco tried to bite back his smile, but it came out anyway. “You got cockblocked by the Dark Lord, eh?” His tone was even, but when Harry gave him a flat expression, he burst into laughter. “What? It’s funny!”

“No need to be cruel,” Harry grumbled, but Draco only sighed.

“Sorry. I’m just deflecting. Laugh at you so we don’t laugh at me, that sort of thing. I don’t want to talk about all the ways I’m not human, you know?”

Harry turned to him, brow furrowed. “What do you mean? You’re human. You’re a person.”

Draco’s expressive face went a little dull. “I’m a person, sure. But I’m not human. I’m a creature, Harry. You may have conveniently forgotten, but I haven’t. I can’t afford to. I have instincts and allure and wings and I cannot forget about them for a  _minute_.”

“You’re –“

“A beast,” Draco told him gravely, and there was something in his tone that made Harry stare dumbly, unable to reply. “I am a creature, and perhaps that’s not necessarily a bad thing, but you mustn’t pretend otherwise.” He came forward, slowly, and when he extended his hand he let one sharp talon trail down the length of Harry’s nose. The situation kept Harry grounded in the face of Draco’s allure, but its presence was making Draco’s point just fine. He went almost cross eyed trying to follow the path of Draco’s finger, and had to firmly shake himself out of it when Draco continued speaking. “I can be dangerous,” Draco told him, matter-of-fact. “I’ve never lost control of my instincts, so I haven’t mentioned them too much, but they’re still there. They’re getting stronger.”

Harry wanted to be glad that he was accepting this, especially after how downtrodden he’d become after he’d accidentally snared Pansy in his allure. It was hard to be, though, considering the way Draco looked nearly _resigned_ , as if it doomed him.

“You haven’t talked about any of this much,” Harry managed to say, and Draco shrugged a little delicately. “What other instincts are there?”

“The flying is part of it,” Draco said slowly, debating. “I like being high up even more than I used to – it’s comforting to have an aerial view of things. I have the protective instincts as well, over my possessions. Or friends. But I’ve mentioned that already.” He blushed a little when Harry rose an eyebrow.

“What does that mean? Protective instincts? You have mentioned it, but what does it _mean_?” Harry asked.

Draco pulled his hand back from where it had been hovering over his collar. His fingers flexed, and Harry took note of the sharp points that had overtaken all five fingers. “Not that I’m laying claim to you or anything of the sort,” he said, faux casual, as he took a step back. “But say for instance someone tried to hurt you. I don’t have any experience to go on here, but if that happened… I have a good feeling that if someone tried to hurt you, or Pansy, I would rip that person apart.”

He met Harry’s eyes, his own wide and honest and still so damn resigned. It was as if he thought he was a monster, and was trying to make himself accept it.

“I wouldn’t be able to stop myself. I have never wanted to be a killer, Harry; you have to understand. I never wanted that, but sometimes I think things and there’s an almost visceral reaction. Animals are territorial and impulsive, and veela… we are creatures. We are, on some level, animals. We have those baser reactions and instincts.”

Harry wanted to commend him on the use of the word “we” instead of “they,” but he was too busy being dumbfounded. “I haven’t seen any sort of behavior like that in you.”

Draco smiled a little, tiredly but honest. “It wasn’t strong at first. It’s manifesting more and more as I accept the veela part of myself.” He looked away. “It was terrifying when I first realized something was off. It was something stupid at the start, like being comforted by the smell of myself in my bed. I woke up one morning and didn’t want to leave my bed, like it was a  _nest_.” He rolled his eyes, but there was something genuinely uncomfortable in his eyes.

Harry nodded slowly, understanding. Veela were bird like creatures, so it only made  _sense_ that they would have some parts that were close to their animal counterparts. He looked up at Draco in realizing. “The other day – you came up to me and started fretting about my hair. You started messing with it, trying to make it lie flat.”

Draco’s cheeks went scarlet and he crossed his arms, a defensive reaction. “It was a mess,” he said hotly. Then, when Harry just stared at him, he shrugged and folded inward a bit. “There might also be grooming issues,” he muttered, and Harry – surprising even himself – huffed a laugh.

“Well, it doesn’t bother me,” he said lightly, and was glad when Draco uncurled a little. “I mean, between the two of us,  _someone_ should give a shit about my appearance.” He gestured for Draco’s hand. “Let me see that, will you?”

Draco frowned, hesitant, but after a moment of internal debate playing out over his face, he placed his hand in Harry’s.

The skin up toward his wrist was soft and glowing as Harry had come to expect, but further down his palm, the skin got tougher, almost scaly. His fingers were humanoid but curved, and ended in large, dark talons. They were sharp, but not like a blade, which Harry had definitely entertained as an idea. They reminded Harry of Hedwig’s talons – cutting but not piercing. They could do damage but not without force and intent. He kept his perusal to the point, reminding himself repeatedly that he was touching Malfoy for a  _reason_. It was meant to be a study, not just an opportunity to admire Draco.

“Ugly, aren’t they?” Draco said quietly. His pupils were just slightly expanded, but any distraction he might have felt from Harry’s touch was kept out of his voice. “I figured out how to bring them out at will only a couple days ago. I think I hate them.”

Harry chose his words very carefully. “I like them,” he disagreed plainly. “They’re strong and interesting, and on a human hand they’re almost…” He struggled to find phrasing that wouldn’t offend or upset Draco. “They make you seem like a warrior.” He turned Draco’s hand over in his, caressing them with a delicate hand. He looked up at Draco through his eyelashes, curiously examining the way Draco looked conflicted all of a sudden. His eye contact inspired another reaction in Draco – it made his eyes sharpen and burn silver, his unnatural stillness making him more mesmerizing and less human. Forcing himself to finish his thought, he said, “They’re like the talons of a bird of prey. They belong to someone strong and capable and –“

They were both surprised by the low hum that reverberated through Draco’s chest. Part of Harry wanted to call it a purr, but he knew what it was.

“You just trilled,” he pointed out needlessly, and Draco flushed.

He snatched his hand back. “I have instincts,” he groused, cradling his own hand to his chest protectively. “Veela are… we’re meant to be providers, aren’t we? That’s how we see ourselves. We’re protective and we like taking care of things, and you’re just saying stupid things that appeal to the bloody bird. That’s all.”

Harry couldn’t explain, even to himself, why he couldn’t stop a warm grin from creeping to his face. “I only speak the truth.”

Draco’s cheeks darkened further, to Harry’s delight. “I’m never going to see myself how you do,” he said instead of retaliating, like Harry expected, and it was a melodramatic sigh but it was honest.

“Luckily, since we’re friends and all that, you have me to see you for you,” Harry told him, a little nonsensically, but judging by the upward twitch of the corner of Draco’s mouth, he understood the sentiment.

“Okay,” Draco finally said, laughing quietly. “This has been a very lovely conversation all about me, but remember that when it started, we were talking about you? Tell me about how you’re not getting targeted by murderers this year, yeah?”

Harry couldn’t help it; he laughed, and after a moment Draco laughed properly, too, instead of the soft chuckles Harry’d been getting. He felt as though he’d gotten through to Draco, and so he let him deflect again without comment.

“I’m a normal lad this year,” Harry announced, still snickering. “No death threats, besides the ones I normally get, and no new dark lords. I am  _so_ normal. I am finally Just Harry.”

Draco laughed, though Harry knew he didn’t get the joke, and Harry smiled at his reaction.

“Oh, Potter,” Draco chuckled. “You’ve always been Just Harry. It’s just now that we’re really seeing it.” Draco’s eyes were infinitely warmer than usual, and infinitely harder to look away from. Considering that they’d spent the better part of half an hour talking about Draco being veela, there was something almost funny about Harry forgetting about the allure until he was caught up in it.

Instead of bringing it up, he just grinned cheekily. “Finally, you’re getting it. Not all of us can just be incredible magical beings like you.” He didn’t let Draco’s dizzying brightness get the best of him. “Here’s what I want to know, though,” Harry said thoughtfully, switching gears as a thought occurred to him. “Fleur is part veela, too. So why isn’t she more like you?”

Draco blinked at him in surprise. “What, you don’t know already? Haven’t you been doing all that reading lately?”

Harry shrugged. “I couldn’t find anything on this particular topic. There’s lots about surprise manifestations of veela inheritances, but not much about how it all works, you know?”

Draco sat down next to him at the table finally, his wings all neatly folded behind him. Harry eyed his hands, suddenly devoid of talons. “Fleur Delacour-Weasley, right?” Harry nodded. “Well, I’m going to assume with Fleur it’s more of a ancestry thing than a veela thing,” he said, humming to himself with thought. “Sure, she has veela blood, but it didn’t manifest. She doesn’t have allure, or wings. For her, it’s just that one of her ancestors was a veela. Like, if one of your ancestors was Swedish, you’d have Swedish blood, but that doesn’t make you a Swede. Fleur has veela blood, but she’s not veela. It’s a little different, because of the nature of Veela manifestations, but that’s a simple way of putting it.”

Harry nodded, because Draco’s explanation did make sense. “Is it possible, do you think, to only partially manifest? Like, being half veela, so you’d have half the related veela… stuff?” His phrasing left something to be desired, but thankfully Draco only rolled his eyes.

“No, not from how I understand it. Mind, I’m basing this information on general Wizarding World common knowledge, but creature inheritances don’t come in bits and parts. It’s all or nothing – you manifest or you don’t, and that’s that.” Draco shrugged as if it were really that simple.

“So,” Harry said slowly. “All those times Ron got all mesmerized by Fleur when she walked by during the Triwizard Tournament…”

Draco smirked. “… was just Weasley being a randy bastard, I’m afraid.” He watched with that smirk firmly in place as Harry cracked up, laughing so hard that the corners of his eyes were actually a little wet and his stomach hurt from the exertion. “Well,” he said smugly when Harry was just panting for breath. “We’ve all learned a lot today, even if approximately none of it was related to our schoolwork. I think that’s an accomplishment.”

Harry couldn’t help but wheeze another laugh, just for Draco’s sake.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you might be thinking, whoa Baz, this isn't a new chapter? Wasn't this chapter 9? And yes, yes it was. For old readers coming because they got an update notif, here's the thing: I rehauled this entire fic. I would entirely reread this fic if I were you because there have been some massive changes and loads of new parts. If you're angry because there's not a /new/ chapter, I'd recommend you reread this even more, because there is a new chapter... it's just in the middle of the fic. Chapter 4 is entirely new, and the previous chapter 4 is now chapter 5, which is why this old chapter (which has been tweaked and is worth a reread) is now listed as a new chapter 10. 
> 
> I'm sorry about doing this instead of a new chapter, but I felt like it needed to be done before I continued.

It took a month for Harry to reach the point that he felt like he’d combust if he stayed in the castle for a second longer.

"Okay," Harry finally announced, slamming his hand down onto their table and standing. "I've had enough. We should go out - I'm sick of our rooms. And the room of requirement. I want to go walk by the lake."

Draco's gaze lifted from the potion proposal for his project. His eyebrows were furrowed charmingly. Harry wasn't entirely convinced be wouldn't still be charmed even if Draco wasn't a veela. "Great idea. Let's go and fend off my suitors - it'll make a grand time." Once, his tone would have been biting. Now it was only mild. Draco was clever, witty, and good with words, but as Harry was quickly learning, not usually mean when his guard was down. 

Harry rolled his eyes and pulled back the curtain on their window. The moonlight filtered in. They’d been working late to make sure they had their work together for the next day’s set of professor meetings, and Draco’s potions proposal had needed a fourth look over if Harry listened to him tell it. "Not likely to be a problem," he answered. "Come on. You can fly over the lake." Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry's cajoling but put his parchment down regardless, sliding off the bed where he'd been lounging. 

He moved more and more gracefully every day, less of the teenage boy clumsiness and more of a prenatural smoothness to his movements. If he weren't so enamored of watching him, Harry would be disgruntled with comparison to his own awkward limbs. 

"I find your blatant bribery ridiculous and I can't believe I'm going along with it," Draco announced as he knelt to dig in his trunk for a cloak. His wings ruffled behind him, betraying his excitement. Harry grinned at the sight of them. 

"It's not bribery," he said happily. "Just facts. A perk of coming with me. Don't think I don't know you've been dying to fly in open air." He met Draco's halfhearted glare with his grin firmly in place. At the sight of it, Draco flipped him off - crass, but effective. Harry chuckled at the visible talon, clearly making Draco's point. "You can play with the Giant Squid, too."

Draco stood, cloak in hand, and let the lid of his trunk shut on it. He pulled his cloak out the rest of the way, magicking it on and fastening it around his neck. His wings fluttered, seemingly protruding out of the fabric. "The Giant Squid is not a pet," Draco said with a roll of the eyes. "And as I believe my wings would hinder more than help in the lake, I'll not risk it."

He nodded toward the door, and Harry snagged his own cloak from the back of one of their desk chairs, following without comment. "Is the Giant Squid a magical being? Because I'm pretty sure normal squids can't lift their arms out of water the way it does. Once, Katie Bell got dragged off the shore and pulled in, though it was only playing and didn’t let her drown or anything. Normal squids can't do that, I don't think."

Draco shrugged, more relaxed wandering the halls than he had been in weeks. Harry made a mental note to make nightly outings part of their schedule. "I know very little about the biology of squids, but I dare say it is magical in some respect. It's been in the lake for ages."

"It was in the lake when my parents went here," Harry offered. "I've heard stories from Sirius." 

Draco smiled wryly. "And my grandparents. My grandfather's portrait has some intriguing stories of its own. Antagonizing the Giant Squid isn't a new pastime for Hogwarts students." His arm knocked against Harry's as they went down the stairs. He sighed, almost wistfully. "Don't you feel like we're just new incarnations of the old sometimes? It seems like this place never changes." 

Harry shrugged, glancing over at him and then back down at his feet, watching out for vanishing steps. "We had a pretty unique Hogwarts experience," Harry offered. "What with the evil wizards and veela inheritances and the boy-who-liveds." 

Draco barked a laugh, startled out of him. His expression cleared. "I suppose we have had our own story to tell, haven't we?" he conceded. "Thank Merlin for the Boy Who Lived, rising us out of the ashes of our nearly identical predecessors." 

Harry stifled a grin, leading them out of the castle. There was no security and no repercussions for their little escape; they were adults. Harry wondered if the sense of power and independence was similar to what muggle uni students felt. He would never know, and frankly had no desire to. It was almost funny, when he thought about it. He had lived in the wizarding world for so long - muggle life felt so foreign to him, the way the wizarding world had used to. 

They chatted good naturedly as they wandered down to the lake, taking care to watch their steps as they traipsed over the grassy hills. 

Draco shone out under the moonlight, the ivory tips of his feathers reflecting light. He looked calmer as well, moving easier through the world as they made their way down to the shore. Harry didn't say anything when he removed his shoes, toes curling into the grass. 

"I'll concede that this was a good idea," Draco told him once he's taken in the silent lake. “I’ve missed being outside.”

“Or even just in public,” Harry agreed, sighing. He thought back to their last attempt at joining dinner – at the way they’d stepped into the Great Hall and as if magnetized, almost every head nearby turned to stare Draco down. “But you’re right. We haven’t been out of the castle in weeks; this is a  _great_ idea. And look! No Hufflepuffs this time!”

“Laugh all you want, but tell me you wouldn’t be terrified if five girls chased you into the forest,” he snorted, wings beating slowly behind him. His cloak, spelled on, rustled behind him dramatically. He lifted off without further ado, grinning down at Harry as he hovered. He let Draco’s glowing gaze warm him from the inside, and he waved. Draco didn’t fly away; he just pushed upward and back down for a little bit before he settled back onto the ground. “S’hard to fly with a cloak on,” he sighed, loping back toward Harry.

“We can always just sit here,” Harry agreed. “It’d be nice to have a rest out here, wouldn’t it?”

Draco hummed in agreement, but before they could settle, a voice startled them out of their complacency.

“Oi! What’re you two queers doing out here?”

Harry turned his head, disbelieving, toward the dark-haired boy coming toward them. “None of your business,” Harry called back, affronted. Draco was tense next to him, kneeling on the grass, having been preparing to sit. “And you shouldn’t be out here; it’s dark.”

“Neither should you two,” the boy sneered, and Harry caught a glimpse of his face in the moonlight. Cuthbert something-or-other, a sixth year Hufflepuff. He’d seen him giving the younger Slytherins a hard time before, and Harry’s nose wrinkled in distaste. There were a few others behind him, a ways off; obviously, it had been an entire group trekking out into the night for a little fun.

“Go inside,” Harry snapped. “We’re of age, and as eighth year students we can roam the grounds if we like. You, on the other hand…”

“You think I’m going to let you sit out here doing whatever with  _him_?” Cuthbert made a face at Draco. “I don’t trust this death eater scum at all; shouldn’t have been allowed back into the school.” He kicked the ground in their direction, just close enough that a couple small pebbles came toward them in a small arc, falling just a foot or so short.

Harry’s fists were clenched. “Watch your mouth, Cuthbert. The war’s  _over_. Get on with your life.”

The Hufflepuff laughed. “Oh, great. The lord savior knows my name. What an  _honor_.” His insincere smile dropped. “Well, Chosen One, I don’t have any respect for you, buddying-up with the likes of him.” Before Harry could shield them, he threw a stinging hex that caught Harry squarely in the chest.

Harry was on his feet in an instant, wincing, but it took a moment for him to realize that his hair was being ruffled by a sudden breeze, a snarl in his ears.

He turned his head. Draco was a thing of  _glory_ , dark quicksilver eyes glinting almost with their own glow in the darkness. He had stood as well, wings spread behind him defensively, and his hands were tipped in talons. He looked unearthly, his skin glistening. When he spoke, his voice was deeper and almost melodic.

“I wouldn’t hex Harry again, mate,” Draco said lowly. His eyes were furious, though his tone was measured. No matter how calm his tone was, his face gave him away; his teeth bared. “Leave, and I won’t tear you apart.”

Cuthbert took a step back, his expression torn between adoration and fear. The allure was there, though muted by Draco’s rage, and Harry felt almost pleased to see Cuthbert’s confliction. “You can’t tell me what to do, you bastard,” Cuthbert said, shaky but still unpleasant. He shot another stinging hex, though Harry blocked it in time. Draco’s eyes slide slowly over to him, his lips curving upward in a small smile, and then he looked back at the Hufflepuff.

In spite of his tough words, he didn’t look comfortable having both an angry veela and Harry Potter against him. The small group behind him tittered, trading glances at each other and back toward the castle. Draco, however, didn’t retaliate for a moment. He examined Cuthbert’s expression, eyes narrowed, and a wicked gleam sparked in his eye.

“You’re being awfully rude, you know?” Harry shivered at the sound of his voice, steel-turned-honey. The fury calmed, and with it the allure became more potent. Harry thought he could almost taste it, sitting on his tongue. Draco stepped forward, and Cuthbert stepped back, though his sneer had dropped entirely. His eyes were on Draco’s face, wide and almost glazed. “What do you think  _death eater scum_ does to someone who talks to them like that?”

Cuthbert swallowed. He didn’t – couldn’t – look away from Draco’s eyes. “I…”

“Or,” Draco added pleasantly. “What a veela does when their friends are attacked? I’m sure you realize it won’t be pleasant.”

“Of course,” he mumbled. His hand, wrapped around his wand, was trembling something awful.

“You should take your friends and go back to the castle,” Draco suggested lightly. When he finished speaking, he closed the sentence with a soft click of his tongue, and Cuthbert nodded immediately. His cheeks were flushed and he was beginning to sweat, perspiration beading at his temple.

The sweetness fell away, and Draco pinned him with a cold, furious stare. “ _Go_ ,” he hissed, wings raising, and that was all the encouragement the kid needed to run back toward the castle, his friends already having turned to run. Harry couldn’t blame them. Allure aside, Draco’s face had become a monstrous thing, teeth sharp and eyes burning with anger. For a second, part of Harry had wanted to run, too.

“Fucking prick,” Draco sneered, spitting at the ground where Cuthbert had stood. His expression was still full of veela sharpness. They’d once joked about Draco growing a beak and right at that moment Harry was sure he wouldn’t be surprised. “How fucking _dare_ that little fuck to come anywhere near you.” He was shaking, vibrating in rage, and when he opened his mouth again it was to scream after the long gone figures of Cuthbert and his friends. Harry had to cover his eyes at the sound of it, high and piercing to the point that it actually hurt to hear it.

Veela protective instincts, Harry reminded himself. “He’s gone now,” Harry said firmly when his ears stopped ringing. “It’s fine. He was just a little punk, and you took care of him just fine.” Draco’s head whipped around to pin him with those glowing molten silver eyes. “You did a great job getting him to fuck off,” Harry told him, expressing his thoughts on autopilot under the force of Draco’s glare. Harry had to shake himself a few times once Draco had calmed down, pushing the cloying sweetness of the allure from his mind. It seemed to have grown stronger with the threat gone. “Good… good job. Nicely done.”

Draco made a face. The good mood was clearly ruined. “I didn’t know if I’d be able to manipulate the allure like that,” he muttered. “Without him just going wild and attacking me. But I did it.”

“Excellent control,” Harry agreed, a little shaken himself. The draw to get closer was almost overwhelming. “You’re getting better at this stuff for sure.”

Harry didn’t hold any of it against Draco – but at the same time, there was something deep within him that was starting to understand what Draco meant about being a  _beast_. He didn’t seem inhuman; he  _was_ inhuman. He was a creature, and he was capable of things Harry would never be. Harry could bare his teeth all he liked, but compared to a tiger, there was nothing intimidating about his tiny kitten’s fangs.

Draco, baring his teeth and tensing his muscles to pounce, was very much a wild thing.

But the Draco in front of him at that moment, upset and clearly vulnerable, was a different matter, and Harry reminded himself that he’d known from the beginning that Draco was a different sort of creature, and he’d accepted him.

“That was remarkable,” Harry told him firmly. “That kid was being a brat, and you managed to make him leave without anyone getting hurt. Veela powers are good for something, huh?”

Draco’s eyes widened, meeting Harry’s. He appeared to be unable to think of a response; clearly, he hadn’t expected Harry to say that. “You- it doesn’t bother you that I just mind controlled a kid into leaving?“

“I think it’s great that you managed to use your allure to make him leave without hurting anyone. You could probably break up any fight you came across,” Harry said, and though he was focusing on that point for Draco’s sake (and to distract him from his anger), he meant it. It was a remarkable way to use his abilities, and Harry was so  _proud_ of him.

He wondered, in the back of his mind, when he’d become so fond of Draco.

Draco deflated all at once. “Yes, well. The rest of the school isn’t going to see it that way when they hear I threatened him.”

Harry frowned, because he knew that Draco was right. If he didn’t hear from McGonagall tomorrow about keeping Draco’s temper in check, he’d eat his wand. At that moment, however, he didn’t care. “If he spreads tales, I’ll be sure to make everyone aware that he was hexing us, and you had every right to stand up for yourself,” he said reassuringly. He knew, and most importantly, Draco knew, that it was an oversimplification and not truly helpful, but Draco seemed to appreciate it anyway.

“It’s just funny,” Draco said, sitting down on the grass. Harry sat down again next to him, just close enough for their fingers to touch if he reached out a little. “Before, I was a prick, and yet no one really believed I was evil. Now, unless I’m absolutely perfect, they’ll think I’m evil no matter what I do.” He huffed a humorless laugh. “You know, according to Pansy, there are some that think I came into my inheritance to get back at the student who threatened me in the hall. They think I blasted him with allure on purpose to humiliate him. As if I wanted him trying to climb me like a tree.”

“It says a lot more about how ignorant they are that they think you did it on purpose,” Harry pointed out quietly. “And… they’ll realize soon enough that they can’t get away with treating you the way they have. Any of you.” When Draco turned to him, eyebrow raised, he looked away. “I’m making sure of it, yeah?” He wasn't out in the halls as much as he used to be, but he’d already made a point of telling off three arseholes just like Cuthbert when he’d come across them being nasty.

“You never did anything about it before,” Draco said softly. It wasn’t angry; just fact. They’d talked about this before, but he couldn’t be mad about the fact that Draco wasn’t over it. Harry didn’t react except to take a deep breath. Frankly, he would deserve it even if Draco  _was_ angry.

“Yeah, well, I was a bastard,” Harry told him after a moment of steeling himself. His hands, nervously fidgeting, started plucking shreds of grass out of the ground. “And I was more preoccupied with my life and I told myself it wasn’t my problem when it should have been. Making sure kids aren’t getting harassed should be everyone’s problem.” He sighed. “I don’t have an excuse. But I’m not going to do that anymore.”

Instead of pressing it, however, Draco just smiled at him. He looked tired and somber, but his smile was genuine. “I know, Harry,” he said. “Sorry I brought it up.”

Harry leaned over and nudged Draco with his shoulder. “We should come out here more often,” he hummed, changing the topic at Draco’s prompting. He stifled a grin when the Giant Squid lifted a tentacle out of the water as if waving, before dropping it back into the water. “You see that.” He pointed to where the water was still settling. “Normal squids can’t do that. Think about squid squishy bits. No way they can lift their arms out of the water like that.”

Draco laughed, surprised. Harry could make it a personal mission to startle Draco into laughing, he thought to himself. “ _Squid squishy bits_ ,” he repeated, snorting, and Harry grinned, unsure of why his stomach was fluttering. Damn veela, he thought, but couldn’t summon up the frustration.

Harry laid back, an arm under his head and the other resting lazily with a hand over his stomach. “I’m a paragon of eloquence,” he said graciously, and Draco turned to direct his smile down on him like some sort of kind angel, the moon a halo over his head.

Harry felt his chest clench, cheeks flushing ever so slightly, and had to promptly shove a new thought out of his head.

_Oh no._

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully I'll have the next chapter done soon - the end of the semester is coming up, and then I'm hoping to get a good chunk of his story done, if not all of it. I'm sorry it takes so long; I'm an English major so when I'm not essay writing during the semester I tend to get burnt out on writing. At least now we're getting to the cute Harry/Draco shit! Progress!

_Really?_

_Really, mate? I’m going to be honest here, I kind of think you’ve lost your bloody mind. “He’s a good bloke” my arse. He’s a little prick and I can’t believe you’re getting along with him. Historically, no one has hated the ferret more than you. I seem to recall an entire year in which you insisted he was literally evil._

_I’m not going to comment on the veela thing, because that’s tough shit and even I’m not that big of an arse. Especially since he’s always been such an elitist pureblood, I can’t even imagine what he’s feeling like right now. Still, I want you to know right now that I don’t want anything to do with him. You can be friends with him all you like but if you make me spend any time with him I’m not responsible for how quickly I’ll be reduced to hexing his mouth shut. Or punching him the face. As a matter of fact, I demand at least one opportunity to punch him in the face. A freebie. I deserve that much, probably._

_Anyway, it’s not that I can’t tell you about my training – it’s just dead boring, mate. Mostly studying shield charms right now, because apparently I need to know every single one that exists. I get that protego_ _doesn’t cover everything, but dear Merlin, do I really need to know twenty?_

_And for that matter, you wouldn’t believe what Scamander has us doing. I know the guy’s a war hero from WWI and everything, but he’s ancient now and he’s got to be losing it. There’s definitely a reason he’s an academy instructor instead of an active auror, honestly…_

“You’re going to burn a hole in it if you keep glaring at the damn letter like that.”

Harry forced his eyes to tear away from Ron’s complaints about his academy classes to where Draco was sitting across from him in the other armchair. His wings were tucked behind him, curling around his body just enough to make his position comfortable laying against them. There was a book in his hands he had been focused on reading for the past half hour.

When Harry didn’t have a snappy reply right away, Draco rolled his eyes. He closed the book. “You know I don’t actually care about the Weasel’s opinion, right? I have faith our friendship will survive whatever he has to say about me.”

“I know you don’t care,” Harry sighed. The problem was that _he_ did, and the more time he spent with Draco the more acutely aware he was of how well Draco _didn’t_ get on with his friends. “It really doesn’t bother you that he’s decided he deserves one free shot to punch you in the face?”

“If that ever comes to pass, I think I can handle it.”

“He’s an auror now, you know.”

“And I’m a veela.” He lifted a hand, letting his talons extend from his fingers with a raised eyebrow. Harry hated how attractive Draco’s smarminess could be. “I can handle him. I won’t even maim him, since he’s your best friend and all.”

Harry pressed his lips together to keep from grinning outright. “I appreciate your consideration.” Draco nodded graciously, letting his talons recede again. Merlin, Harry could watch him manipulate his talons all day. Draco was getting more comfortable with them every day that passed, and had even managed to push his glamour up to his shoulders. McGonagal had estimated that it should only take two or three months for Draco to gain enough control to control the veela attributes to rejoin classes, and they were already at the one month mark. With the way things were going, Harry had complete faith Draco would manage.

“Frankly, I expected him to go on about my failings more than he did,” Draco offered. “I’d call that letter restrained, for as much as he hates me.” They’d already discussed the contents, but Harry couldn’t stop rereading it, trying to figure out how to respond.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Harry disagreed with a roll of the eyes. “He just… indulges in a little childish rivalry more than he should.”

“He hates me because he hates my father,” Draco snorted. “He’s not actually shy about it, you know. He’s not the only one.”

Harry winced, because that was a fair enough argument. “He has a reason,” he agreed. “He can get over comparing you to your father, but you can’t blame him for hating your father when he put Ginny in danger.”

Draco shrugged, flipping through the pages of his book just for something to do with his hands. “I never said it wasn’t a reasonable hatred. Sometimes, I hate my father too. I don’t know a single person who doesn’t.”

In spite of his words, Harry was hesitant to say anything else on the subject because he knew that Draco was more sensitive about his father than he let on. He’d spent so long idolizing Lucius, then fearing him, then hating him for pushing him toward Voldemort and putting their family in danger, then trying not to hate him. Harry couldn’t imagine having that complicated of a relationship with his parents. He’d never had a paternal figure around long enough to develop one. In spite of being raised by the Dursleys, it sometimes felt as though he’d raised himself.

“Ron will still get over it,” he said instead of voicing any of his thoughts on the matter. “He tends to brood about things and then move on when he realize being angry doesn’t get him anywhere. There’s no point to hate you for what happened during the war.”

Draco gave him a lazy smile. “I’m not worried about it, Potter; let it go. If he does, he does. If not, I’m not bothered. Being friends with you doesn’t mean I have to be friends with all your friends.”

He raised an eyebrow right back. It probably didn’t look the same as Draco’s, but he hoped the point was made. “I made an effort to call a truce with Pansy. How is that different?”

He was rewarded with Draco chuckling, and though he wanted to resist the grin it brought to his own lips, he couldn’t. “You’re the saviour,” he teased. “It comes with the territory, being noble and courteous and all that. I can’t be held to the same standards as you.” Harry gave in, laughing at the dramatic sigh Draco gave.

“How about you be the saviour for a bit, and I’ll be the one who can get away with anything,” he retorted, and then chuckled again when Draco wrinkled his nose.

“That doesn’t sound half as fun,” he teased, going back to his book. Harry continued to look over the letter for a few minutes more, but eventually he sighed and stood, stretching his arms over his head. Draco glanced up at him. “You meeting Longbottom in the library?”

“Yeah,” Harry answered, padding softly in socked feet to set Ron’s letter on his bedside table so he wouldn’t forget to respond. “You need anything?”

“A copy of _Potions Creation and Modification_ wouldn’t go amiss,” Draco told him absently, already engrossed in his book again. “Pince can help you if you can’t find it.”

“I know how to use the library,” he said with a roll of the eyes. “I’ll be back in an hour or two, yeah?”

Draco waved him out, not even looking up, apparently had his fill of putting aside his novel for conversation. Far from offended, Harry reached over to tug on a feather lightly in goodbye and slipped out of their rooms before Draco could do more than ruffle his wings indignantly.

Even though he was still a student, it was strange to walk the halls of Hogwarts. He was a legal adult and had lived through a war – and yet he was still the ward of the castle. It was an odd perspective, especially when he passed first and second years who watched him like he was a hero, or talked to him like he was a professor. It had always been like that, but since returning for their proper seventh year, it had gotten worse.

He was kind of relieved when he didn’t run into anyone who made a fuss about seeing him out an about on the way to the library. No one in the library even looked up, except Neville, who’d been watching for his entrance and grinned when he entered. He shuffled toward him, trying not to make too much noise, and when he got in range he clapped Neville on the shoulder in greeting before taking the seat in front of him.

“So…” He grinned as charmingly as he could. “Plants.”

Neville laughed. “Hello to you too, Harry. How’s your day been so far?” he asked, reaching over to pull a book off a pile he had next to him. He slid it over to Harry without preamble.

Harry picked it up, flipping through it. He’d asked Neville to help with his Herbology project, since he wasn’t in classes and was missing out on instruction, and the book he’d picked out looked like a perfect starting point. “It’s been good,” he answered, setting the book down on the table again. “Draco and I were kind of having a lazy day in front of the fire. You’d think it’d get warmer the further into March we get, but it’s still definitely hot-cocoa and lazy weather.” Neville nodded in agreement and Harry just thought for a minute about how good it felt to sit around with old friends. He and Draco got on so well, but he wasn’t a replacement for all the friends Harry had a harder time seeing.

“It’s getting to me, too,” Neville sighed. “It’s weird to be cooped up inside all the time, especially since I started jogging and all that.” Harry barely refrained from ribbing him, but Neville had gotten enough shit when he’d first started routinely exercising on campus. He didn’t play Quidditch, and he wasn’t planning to be an auror, so most of their friends couldn’t understand why he’d taken the effort to get in shape.

As it turned out, witnessing a physical battle taking place right in front of you in a place where you were supposed to be safe was a good motivator to get in shape and stay that way. Neville had spent the summer after the final battle helping with the rebuilding efforts, and once they got back into classes Neville had felt antsy just sitting around, getting vulnerable. He’d never told Seamus or Dean or the others, but he’d confessed to Harry that he had nightmares of being his younger, weaker self and getting caught in another battle, of facing Voldemort and being found _wanting_. He’d figured if anyone understood nightmares, it would be Harry – and he wasn’t wrong.

“Anyway,” Neville announced, drawing Harry from the darkening mood. “Your herbology project. I’ve got a couple books picked out that I think will be a big help, but for the actual hands-on bit we’re gonna need to relocate to the greenhouses.”

Harry nodded, expecting that. “Thanks for helping me, mate, seriously. I didn’t even have an idea of where to start.”

 “It might help if you were in class,” Neville said pleasantly, raising an eyebrow when Harry rolled his eyes. “Or if you’d even paid attention for the past seven years of instruction. Just a thought.”

“I’ve paid attention!” he complained. “It’s not my fault I don’t have an interest in the subject like you do. But I need to get an O in this class, mate, so I swear to Merlin I’m trying.” He huffed in frustration and Neville winced in sympathy.

They worked together for the better part of an hour, just the change of scenery giving Harry enough of a breather to get some good studying and theory in – and to get caught up on everything he’d missed in Gryffindor Tower since he’d last visited. Unsurprisingly, most of it was petty drama, but it was petty drama he was missing out on and therefore felt entitled to be kept up to date.

By the end of hour two, they were both getting burnt out – Neville enjoyed tutoring but it had apparently been a frustrating day of actual classes for him, and Harry had never been the kind of person who was good at focusing for a long time without breaks.

“I’ll walk with you back to your rooms,” Neville offered when they got ready to go, and Harry happily agreed, perfectly content with having a buffer between him and the hero-worshipping younger kids. Harry was quick to find the potions text Draco wanted, and they checked out a few books each before making their way out of the library.

They were chatting about the Gryffindor Quidditch team, which Neville paid attention to in spite of being no good at the actual game, when Harry heard a commotion down the hall, in an unused classroom. He recognized it as one of the student labs, where small groups of students could practice charms and DADA outside of class – but it didn’t sound like friendly practice.

“ _\- slimy little –_ “

“ _– get him! Bert –“_

_“ – didn’t do anything! Let me go –“_

Harry didn’t even stop to let Neville know what he was doing; he just shoved his books into Neville’s chest and stormed forward, pulling his wand out of his robe pocket.

The look on the kids’ faces would have been comical if it weren’t for the fact that a twelve or thirteen year old in green-trimmed robes had a bloody nose, and the other was currently at wandpoint. They were so much smaller than the offenders – Cuthbert and three of his friends, Harry noted with a sizzle of fury. Four against two, he thought in disgust.

“What’s going on here?” he asked in a low voices, glaring daggers at Cuthbert. Like it wasn’t obvious. He knew that Cuthbert wasn’t the only offender but he was one of the few who was nasty enough to get physical with the younger kids, and it was starting to become obvious he sought younger Slytherin students out on purpose.

“Not this fucker again,” the kid to Cuthbert’s right groaned, but when Harry raised his wand, he shut up fast. Harry recognized him as the little shit who’d tripped Draco when they were in the library ages ago, and wanted to grimace. Was this just a little gang of anti-Slytherin pricks? Hufflepuff the _nice_ house, his arse.

“This _fucker_ ,” Harry said, remarkably even considering. “is someone who has already made it very clear he wasn’t putting up with this shit. Or do we need to have this talk again?”

Cuthbert was remarkably quiet for someone who had been pretty vocal last time they’d seen each other, but he chose then to speak up. “Where’s your guard-veela, eh? Don’t you need him to protect you?” He sneered, but he was also pretty white-faced for a kid trying to bluster his way into a fight.

Harry raised an eyebrow, and without even opening his mouth shot a _petrificus totalus_ at him. He was almost disappointed when trip-jinx kid caught him before he hit the floor. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but it’s actually my job to protect him. That doesn’t make me any less capable if he decides to confront someone himself.”

“Are you threatening us?” another of Cuthbert’s friends snapped, but his eyes kept glancing up at Harry’s scar. They knew who he was – and what he’d done.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, his expression as stony as he could make it. From the pale faces in front of him, he figured he was probably looking pretty convincing. “Wanna test me?” he asked, and trained his wand on the kid who’d just spoken.

“Fuck off,” he said weakly, but he was already helping trip-jinx pick Cuthbert up enough to carry him out of the room. “Get out of our way; I’m serious.” Harry put his hands up in a mockery of defeat and stepped aside, still inside the classroom, so that the Hufflepuffs could storm out of the room.

The Slytherin with the bloody nose was glaring at him, but the other one was quiet and avoiding his eyes.

“We didn’t need your help,” he muttered. “I had it handled.”

“Yeah,” the other one snorted softly. “Right up until you got socked in the nose. C’mon, Nott. Let’s just… let’s just go.” Nott? It must be the younger brother, Harry realized. When he was looking, he could see the family resemblance. Both reedy, with the same thin brown hair.

“Don’t expect a thanks,” Nott sneered at him, but he was dabbing at the blood under his nose with a shaking hand. The overall effect was overwhelming.

“I don’t need one,” Harry said, faux-casual in spite of the still-simmering anger. “I just fucking hate those pricks. Getting the chance to take them down a notch is all I wanted.” That startled a snort out of Nott, who yipped in pain when it upset his nose. “Look, get back to your dorms. Clearly it’s not your night – quit while you’re ahead.”

He turned to walk out.

“Git!” Nott called after him, grumpy but not as pissed as before. He waved a little over his shoulder before slipping out of the room to give them a minute to put themselves together.

Neville was waiting for him with raised eyebrows, and when Harry met him he held out Harry’s books. Harry took them. “Did you just scare that lot of sixth years? Because I’ve never seen you _try_ to intimidate anyone, ever, but they literally ran out of there.”

Harry winced. “The petrified one is a little shit who bothered Draco and I recently. He’s been pretty hard on the Slytherins and I’ve been trying to… correct that behavior, at least a little.”

Neville’s eyebrows didn’t go down, but he did nod in understanding. “Good for you,” he said casually, in a tone of voice that suggested he’d been talking with Hermione about this. Neville was as non-confrontational as could be, but it was no secret he didn’t approve of the Slytherin-heckling, either.

They chatted around the topic on their walk to Harry’s rooms, but when they reached the portrait of Geraint, Neville stopped him.

“So, hey,” Neville said before they parted ways. “We’re having this picnic out by the lake tomorrow – a bunch of the Gryffindors, and a couple Hufflepuff and Ravenclaws. I figured you could bring Draco, if you guys don’t have any meetings from noon to one, and maybe Parkinson and Zabini?”

Harry bit his lip, thinking, and after a moment he looked at Neville pensively. “You guys gonna back me up if the others get huffy about Slytherins joining in?”

Neville put a hand on his shoulder, smiling a bit sadly. “Me and Hermione put this together – we have your back. Don’t worry about it.”

Harry felt a little tension go out of him and he smiled back. “Alright, yeah – I’ll run it by Draco. I reckon a little socialization could do him good.” They said their goodbyes and Harry went inside, only to find the man himself sleeping on the same armchair he’d been reading in earlier. His book was on his lap, still open.

Part of Harry – a very strong part – melted at the sight. He set the books he checked out down on top of a couple papers on their table, and slipped his shoes off to pad as quietly as he could across the room.

He knelt in front of Draco’s chair, looking up at his sleeping face in wonder. He knew, even if he didn’t want to admit it, that he was starting to become fonder of Draco than the situation warranted, but it was hard to convince himself out of it. Draco was so handsome, he thought with a funny tightening of his chest, and had to actively resist the urge to brush his hair out of his face. Draco was something else, really – fair but strong, with a pouty mouth but a strong jaw, long limbs but muscles to contrast the sharp angles. And Merlin, his quick mind and sharp wit and the way he was almost sweet when he let himself be vulnerable…

He set a hand on Draco’s knee, shaking it gently. “Hey, mate,” he murmured when Draco made a face and opened his eyes blearily. “That doesn’t look comfortable.”

“Oh,” Draco managed, yawning. “Yeah, s’not. I haven’t slept well the past couple days, so I suppose I passed out a little.”

“You should head to bed, proper,” Harry told him, and took his hand to pull him out of the chair. “Goodnight,” he added when Draco just stumbled over to the bed and landed face first.

“Night,” Draco yawned again, not even bothering to look over, and somehow it made Harry smile at the sight.

He changed into a pair of cotton pajama pants before crawling into his own bed, and before he nodded off, he glanced over at Draco’s still form across the room. He closed his eyes to the image of Draco peacefully sleeping.  


	12. Chapter 12

The next morning, Harry woke up to Draco’s gentle alarm, as usual, to find Draco already awake. He was frowning slightly, still laying on his side, watching Harry.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Harry asked softly, knowing it would carry.

Draco nodded. “Slept a little, woke up, and couldn’t fall asleep again.” Harry frowned.

“Are you feeling alright?”

Draco shrugged.

Harry yawned slightly, getting out of bed, and walked over to Draco’s bed. He sat himself on the empty half, waiting for Draco to roll onto his back and look at Harry properly. “There’s a picnic today,” he told Draco when he turned. “A bunch of eighth years from other houses were invited and I was told to bring you, Pansy, and Zabini.”

A small smile turned Draco’s lips upward. “A house unity picnic, huh?”

Harry grinned. “I think it was Hermione and Neville’s idea.” Draco huffed a little laugh, and Harry admirably resisted the urge to run the pads of his fingers over Draco’s cheek, already knowing how it would tingle. He wanted to blame the allure, but he wasn’t totally convinced that was the issue. “So, it doesn’t start until noon - I figure we could write Pansy in your handy little notebook, and she could drag Blaise along.”

“Mm.”

Draco’s eyes had already fluttered closed.

“And you could get some sleep,” he murmured, amused. Not that Draco was listening - he was already asleep, rolling over again and tucking a wing over Harry’s lap. He thought very hard about moving, but Draco’s allure wasn’t active in his sleep (which made sense; avoiding getting assaulted while sleeping seemed like a good evolutionary tactic) and frankly, he was comfortable where he was. Instead, he wandlessly _accio_ ’d one of the books he’d gotten from the library the day before.

He stroked a hand over Draco’s wing, with its soft feathers, and settled in to read.

* * *

 

By the time Harry had successfully woken a groggy Draco, they were twenty minutes late to lunch, and Harry was desperately hoping Pansy hadn’t taken Blaise and left in their absence (assuming she’d decided to go in the first place. She hadn’t responded when Harry had written her, probably in protest that it was Harry instead of Draco).

“Quit dragging me, Potter,” Draco hissed, but he didn’t actually pull away as Harry led him out of the castle and toward the large group of students on a flat enough patch near the lake.

Pansy and Zabini were still there, which had Draco visibly brightening. They were set slightly apart, but not so much because of any hostility. As a matter of fact, Terry Boot was holding what seemed like a perfectly amicable conversation with Zabini as they approached.

“Harry!” Seamus called happily. “And Malfoy! Hurry up; you’re late!”

Malfoy gave him a strained smile and walked over to sit a couple feet away from Pansy, still only too aware of his allure in spite of how much better his control had been lately.

“Hi, guys,” Harry greeted everyone in Draco’s stead, unable to help the fond smile he directed at his charge. “Draco says hi, too.”

That earned him a glare from Draco but a snicker from most everyone else, including Pansy, so Harry considered it a win. Before sitting himself, Harry made his way to the platters of food.

“What do you want, Draco?” he asked over his shoulder, and compiled a sandwich to his exact specifications when Draco replied. On the same plate, he made his own sandwich and stepped around his classmates so he could settle next to Draco on the large blue blanket.

“Who has a picnic in March?” Draco muttered, but Harry just snorted.

“There are plenty of warming charms you can use if you’re cold,” he said quietly, snickering when Draco glared at him again. “Besides, it’s kind of nice today.” Pansy nodded, and reached out to nudge Draco’s knee with her foot.

“Quit being such a grump, Malfoy.” Pansy winked at Harry when he visibly had to stifle a chuckle.

When Draco opened his mouth indignantly, Harry rolled his eyes and shoved Draco’s sandwich under his nose. Draco’s glare slid over to Harry again, but when he saw the smile on Harry’s face he relaxed and just rolled his eyes. “I hate it when you two gang up on me,” Draco told them exasperatedly, and took a bite of his sandwich. When he’d swallowed, he added, “Thanks, Harry.”

He nodded in acknowledgement and took a bite of his own sandwich, humming happily.

It was surprisingly pleasant, sitting there chatting with everyone. There were some strategic absences for the sake of peace (Harry noted that Finch-Fletchley, who had in fact returned when the Muggleborn ban had lifted, hadn’t been invited), and everyone left was fairly friendly. Neville had even come over briefly to say hello to them both, aiming a smile at Draco that was hesitantly returned when he registered it as the gesture of peace it was.

Susan Bones had been the one to call out the elephant at the picnic, so to speak, after a strong breeze passing through had caused Harry to shiver and Draco to wrap a wing around his shoulders to protect him from the wind. He’d merely rolled his eyes when Draco lifted an eyebrow as if to say _plenty of warming charms, huh_ , but Susan perked up curiously.

“Your wings are so large, Draco,” she commented, so pleasant any potential offense was taken out of the words. “Were they hard to get used to? When you presented?”

Draco finished swallowing the last bite of his sandwich, looking pensive. Harry gave him a look, begging him to be pleasant, but Draco just waved him off.

“It wasn’t exactly easy,” Draco answered slowly, very aware of how quiet everyone was, curious and waiting for an answer. “A lot of it was instinctual, but there’s also a weight balance issue and being unused to have extra appendages to fidget with. The main problem I had was that they kept responding to my emotions on instinct without me even realizing.”

“He got angry once and when his wings flared out, he knocked over a torch,” Harry butted in cheerfully, grinning when Draco’s cheeks turned pink. “Nearly set his wing on fire.”

Draco snorted, but didn’t go back to glaring. Instead he lifted his wings and spread them, showing off his wingspan.

“Look at how huge these are,” Draco said slowly with a raised eyebrow. “And tell me you wouldn’t accidentally brush a torch or two with them.”

Susan chuckled and a couple feet away, Seamus chimed in. “The man’s got a point.” Then, he smiled. “Still funny though.” Even Draco chuckled a little, looking a little surprised at the good natured teasing.

Harry patted him on the shoulder, ignoring the way Draco’s good mood was causing him to glow, and got up to get himself another sandwich.

Harry was halfway through putting his sandwich together when Dean stood from Seamus’s lap. It all happened almost comically, the way that Dean tripped over Seamus’s foot when he stood and crashed into Harry’s crouched form, landing hard with his elbows on Harry’s shoulders.

Harry was halfway to laughter by the time Dean was breathlessly babbling apologies into his ear, still hunched over Harry’s body, before suddenly it wasn’t funny at all.

Harry’s ears were _bleeding_ , and Dean shuddered on top of him for a split second before the piercing screech got closer and Dean was physically ripped off of his body.

He reacted without thinking, dropping his half-made sandwich and spinning in place in time to see Draco lift Dean off the ground with only a hand curled around Dean’s upper arm, his other hand closing in on Dean’s throat. He sprung to his feet, heart racing. Draco looked terrifying, his wings practically feathered in metal, eyes molten silver - his talons preparing to dig into Dean’s throat. “Draco, _no_.” The sound of his own voice was nearly unrecognizable, high pitched in panic, and he flung himself forward to cling to Draco’s arm, knowing perfectly well that he wasn’t going to be able to move him if he couldn’t convince Draco to do it himself. “Draco, please, it was an accident.”

Dean was literally shaking in Draco’s hold, his eyes bulging and leaking tears down his face.

“ _He touched you_ ,” Draco growled, his voice a low, inhuman boom. Harry suspected it wasn’t about the touching, but a culmination of the ways the touching had happened – the way he’d curled over Harry’s body, been close to his vulnerable neck. It didn’t even matter - what mattered was that Draco’s talons were drawing blood from Dean’s throat, and Harry practically hung from his grip on Draco’s arm.

“Please,” he whispered, and tried not to flinch away in fear when one of Draco’s great scaled wings wrapped around him, pulling him closer to Draco’s left side and away from Dean’s prostrate form. “He tripped, Draco. It was an accident.”

“Harry, please,” Dean whispered, swallowing when Draco’s growl rumbled between them.

Harry took a deep breath and took a chance, raising a shaking hand to press against Draco’s cheek. When he didn’t pull away or otherwise react, Harry turned his face towards himself. “Draco,” he said, hating that he faced the Dark Lord without trembling but couldn’t stop his voice from wavering in that moment.

Draco had told him repeatedly not to forget that he was a beast, but Harry realized that he had never even known, not until the exact second that Draco’s dilated eyes were peering into his, his expression the kind of ferocity only found in nature. Draco’s mouth was a terrifying grimace of very sharp teeth, and Harry would _swear_ that Draco’s cheekbones were sharper than usual.

“It was an accident,” he told Draco as firmly as he could. “Just let him go, please. I’m fine. He’s a friend. He’s your friend.” A fib, but the amiability of the picnic would hopefully cover that up. The spirit was the same: ally, not enemy.

Draco’s talons pulled back, ever so slightly.

“ _You’re mine_ ,” Draco managed, sounding strangled, his voice still caught in the veela growl. He couldn’t control it, Harry thought wildly, heart still pounding away in his chest. He couldn’t control himself at all.

“He wasn’t challenging you,” Harry plead. “He just fell over.” When Draco tried to look back over at Dean, still caught in his grasp, Harry just cupped Draco’s cheek more firmly and stopped him. When Draco pushed against his hand, the aggression rising again, he took a gamble. “I’m yours. Draco, I’m yours. He knows it, I know it -”

“He’s yours,” Dean choked, agreeing blindly, and finally Draco dropped him, moving his hands to Harry’s shoulders. Harry remembered abruptly he’d been holding Dean in the air. One handed. Just what was Draco capable of?

For such a large group of people, the entire picnic was silent barring the sound of Dean choking, and Seamus shushing him from where he’d rushed forward to rub his boyfriend’s back. Harry couldn’t take his eyes away from the terror on Seamus’s face once he’d looked over, but apparently neither could Draco - the second he looked away from Harry, he let go like the touch was fire, his wing whipping away and hands dropping.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said, voice normal again. Seamus turned around, his expression going from terrified to angry, but when his eyes met Draco’s, he froze.

In spite of how even his voice was, Draco looked positively green. His eyes were locked on Dean’s bowed head, on the blood trailing down his throat from Draco’s talon-marks. The self-loathing on his face made Harry sick, and it was as though he’d taken Harry’s trembling into himself. “I’m _sorry_ , oh Merlin -”

Everyone sitting on the grass was watching the way Draco shrunk in on himself, wings pulling in tight around himself.

Draco couldn’t seem to move, but horrifyingly, he could still cry - huge, fat tears that rolled down his perfect cheeks without his permission. Harry knew that crying in front of these people was practically his worst nightmare, but Draco couldn’t seem to stop.

No one said anything, so Harry put his hand on Draco’s feather-covered shoulder. He didn’t hesitate, despite the scales, and breathed an internal sigh of relief when the feathers immediately went soft under his touch so as not to hurt him. “Go sit by Pansy, Draco.”

It said a lot about his state of mind that Draco did immediately, wings high to cover his face and hide him from their classmates.

Harry knelt down next to Seamus and Dean, ignoring Hermione’s eyes on him, not caring about anyone else’s.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, and Dean nodded, ignoring Seamus’s sputtering. “Seriously, Dean. Are you hurt?”

Dean took a deep breath, sitting up properly. He bared his neck.

“Hermione,” Harry called, focusing entirely on what needed to be done and not on the way he could see Draco shaking out of the corner of his eye. “Your healing spells are spades above mine. Do me a favor.”

She slipped to his side without a word, kneeling down. “Take a breath,” she advised Dean. “This might tickle and I need you to hold still.”

A wand wave later, and - “Thanks, Mione,” Dean murmured, and she nodded. She very carefully did not touch Harry as she stood and pulled back. “Sorry, Harry. I -”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Harry said softly. “You fell, and Draco’s instincts went haywire - that’s not on anybody. I’m just sorry you got hurt.”

“Harry,” Seamus started, eyebrows furrowing, but Dean cut him off before he could get angry.

“Nah,” he interrupted, still rubbing his throat gently. “It wasn’t anybody’s fault. Not mine or Harry’s… or Draco’s.”

Across the giant plaid blanket, Harry heard a soft whimper in the silence. He traded glances with a visibly upset Pansy over Terry and Susan’s heads before turning back to Dean. “He would never attack you if he were in full control of the veela impulses,” Harry told him firmly. “It doesn’t make it better, but I want you to know that he doesn’t bear you any ill will and it wasn’t on purpose.” Each word was spoken as clearly and shortly as he could, laying out facts and hoping to Merlin Seamus wouldn’t say Harry was just biased towards Draco and trying to cover it up. “Male veela are incredibly protective of their friends and family – his veela sees me as someone under his protection. When you fell, you pretty much covered my body entirely and Draco saw you as a threat. It happened so quickly he didn’t have any chance to reconcile his instincts with what actually happened. I swear to you, Dean – he didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Dean was nodding along, and even Seamus was looking uncertainly over at Draco, who was curled facing away from everyone at the edge of the group. “I get it,” he agreed weakly. “Scared the shit out of me but he couldn’t control it. I’m not mad.”

“And none of us are going to hold it against him,” Neville said quietly from where he was sitting with Hermione behind them. “Right?” When Harry glanced over, Neville was glaring down everyone present – but half of them weren’t even watching him. They were just nodding along, solemn and uncomfortable but not angry or afraid.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” Susan said softly. He didn’t turn around to face her. “I can’t even imagine what it’s like to have your own instincts working against you.” Then, absently, she added, “You’re much stronger than I would be, I think.”

“Draco’s one of the strongest people I know,” Harry told her in agreement, and that time he couldn’t ignore the way Hermione was staring him down. Instead of meeting her eyes, he put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. He tried not to be hurt when Dean flinched away. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be receiving many hugs in the near future. “It won’t happen again, mate. We’re friends, and Draco’s really good at the veela stuff now. He was just taken by surprise.”

Dean nodded slowly, and met Harry’s eyes. To his own surprise, Dean’s mouth curled up in a little grin. “So, you’re his bitch now, right? That’s what I’m getting out of this whole situation.”

Even Hermione was surprised into laughter, and Harry let him raise the mood with no more than a sour expression and a “you’re an arsehole, mate.” That only made Dean grin more.

“Just imagine how much easier the war would have been if you’d had him by your side,” Seamus chimed in, a little hesitant but no longer focusing on his boyfriend’s life being in danger. Harry knew how stubborn he could be, and appreciated it all the more that Seamus was clearly trying to let it go. “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would have looked at you the wrong way once and Draco would have gotten all territorial boyfriend on you.”

Harry threw his hands up in the air. “You’re just mad because none of your friends think you’re cool enough to attack someone in your defense.”

“Oh, like you wouldn’t fight the dark git himself a second time to protect me,” Seamus scoffed. “I am irresistible.”

“You’re delusional, is what you are” Draco chimed in, still very much removed from the group and pale but clearly trying to show he was back to normal.

Seamus pointed at him, his voice an overly dramatic tease and called, “I’m not taking any backtalk from you, sir – watch your tongue.” Draco gave him a wan smile, but didn’t respond. It didn’t matter, because the group had started chattering again, laughing and pointedly including Draco in the conversation.

There was a harsh divide between the younger students and the eighth years. As a group, the eighth years didn’t tend to get involved in squabbles, and kept their drama out of the rumor mill. They also had not been involved in most of the Slytherin harassment, but it didn’t mean they hadn’t kept the eighth year Slytherins on the fringes. It showed in the tension in Pansy’s shoulders, in the cool expression on Blaise’s face, even though his voice was tightly controlled and perfectly pleasant. Draco had been quieter than he used to be, and let Pansy do most of the talking in larger group settings. None of them had trusted the rest of the eighth years – and no wonder, when they were the only house not included in the eighth year unity. While everyone else had bonded, the Slytherins hadn’t been harassed, but they also hadn’t been invited to parties or included in conversations.

Harry wasn’t the only one who hadn’t spoken up against the harassment, but he had a feeling that he also wasn’t the only one who had figured out recently how wrong it was, especially when Boot had nervously asked Pansy if one of the younger Slytherin girls was alright after a particularly harsh verbal incident that had apparently happened earlier in the halls. It made him good to hear it, especially when Draco had given him a brief glance with emotional eyes.

When everyone started packing up maybe half an hour or so later, Hermione pulled him aside. Her hand was gentle on his arm, not making contact until Draco was turned the other way to talk to Blaise and Pansy. “What’s going on with you two?” she asked quietly, leading him away from the group and down closer to the lake.

Harry blinked, a parody of innocence. “Going on? What do you mean?”

“We don’t see you two together very often, but from the second you joined us today I noticed something was up. You made him food. You sat closer to him than anyone else did, and he wrapped a _wing_ around you to protect you from the breeze.” She raised an eyebrow at his gaping, entirely unimpressed. “I want to know what’s going on, and before you try to lie to me, keep in mind that I watched him loose control over his instincts because Dean fell on top of you.”

Harry winced. “It’s just the protective instincts. I’m like his baby bird, and he thinks I belong to him - in a totally platonic and friendly way.”

“I’d also like to remind you that I’m not _stupid_ , Harry,” she snorted. “That was a bit of an overreaction for a baby bird. It seemed more to me like he was protecting his claim.” She kicked a rock, obviously uncomfortable with the subject but unwilling to let it go undiscussed.

Harry scoffed, but Hermione clearly wasn’t buying it and now that she brought it up, it _did_ seem like a little bit much. Even when Cuthbert had hit him with a hex Draco hadn’t lost total control. He knew that Draco’s instincts had been getting stronger the more he got comfortable with being a veela, but it hadn’t been _that_ long since the Cuthbert incident. Not enough to justify that intense of a reaction.

“I’m just saying, Harry,” Hermione sighed, knowing he didn’t have a response for her. “If there’s something there –“

“I like him, Hermione,” Harry whispered harshly, under his breath. Her eyes widened, not expecting that. “But he’s not interested, all right? He doesn’t even want a mating bond, not now or anytime soon. I think it was just a stronger reaction because I’m the only person he spends a lot of time around. We’re not just friends – I’m the only person he spends enough time around for him to get a veela-instinct level reaction.”

“He called you _his_ , Harry. That means something, to veela.”

He felt a ridiculous surge of want at her point – ridiculous because he’d only realized he was attracted to Draco a _week_ ago. None of this made sense, and all of it was moving too fast, and the way Hermione was looking at him made him feel like she was revealing more than an innocent crush. “I’m his to protect, is what he meant,” Harry forced out after a long silence. “He wasn’t exactly talkative – short, succinct, and to the point. He didn’t mean for it to be taken the wrong way.”

She nodded slowly, clearly realizing that he was uncomfortable. “That makes sense, I suppose. I’m sorry if I made things weird. I just… I didn’t want to not say anything, especially if he’s going to react like _that_ every time someone bumps into you.” His heart stuttered at the reminder of Draco’s face, contorted in rage and barely human. “That was… it wasn’t good, Harry. There’s a reason that veela are considered dangerous.”

That, though? Her acting as if Draco were something to be afraid of, a monster? That he couldn’t handle. His hands, which had been fidgeting, clenched into fists. “He won’t do that again,” he reassured her, tone hard and unyielding. “He’s got a good handle on this stuff, Mione – he was just surprised. Now that it’s happened he’ll recognize the trigger and be fine next time, I’m sure.”

She gave in, convinced, and raised her hands in defeat. “If you say he’s got it, I trust you. He did seem to be doing well earlier.”

He gave her a small smile, forcing his shoulders and fists to relax. “Soon, he won’t even need me.”

At that, she snorted, and looped her arm around his to lead him back to where the picnickers were getting ready to head back. Draco was watching them curiously, but seemed reassured by Harry’s smile. “I don’t know about that, Harry,” Hermione told him, patting arm gently as she pulled away. “I don’t know about that.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer than I wanted it to because it wouldn't come out the way I wanted it to. It's still not quite to my satisfaction, and might get edited later (as I can't seem to stop editing and revising this fic), but I refused to leave you guys with nothing, especially considering how flaky my muse can be in general. Thanks to everyone who comments, by the way - it means a lot.

Harry wasn’t fooled by Draco’s small, polite smiles or the way he’d pleasantly said goodbye to everyone and apologized again to Dean. He put on a good face, but by the time they were safely sequestered in their rooms again, Draco had become solemn and quiet. Harry didn’t even say anything - he’d seen it coming since the second they’d left the group. Instead of trying to have a heart to heart, he just steered Draco away from his bed and toward the fire, where the chess set waited for them.

Draco sighed, but didn’t fight the hand on his shoulder - he just let a wing swat Harry on the back lightly and went. He sat down as he was bid and when Harry nodded at him, he moved his first pawn.

They played silently, apart from the quiet directions and the smashing of pieces. Eventually, Draco relaxed, and once they arrived at the part of the game that required long pauses and deep thinking, he sighed again.

“You’re not angry with me?”

Then he moved a knight, knocking out one of Harry’s pawns. Keep it casual, keep it calm. Harry nodded to himself, passing it off as a reacting to the game.

“Of course I’m not,” he answered, keeping his tone carefully absent, as if he wasn’t even really paying attention. "No reason to be."

"I almost killed your friend."

"An honest mistake." He moved his rook and waited for several moments.

When he looked up, he realized Draco wasn't even looking at the board. The hand that was curled around the side of the chess table had talons. "Have we really become such good friends that you could forgive me attempted homicide?"

Harry sat back in his chair, dropping the pretense. "We're good enough friends that it worries me that you're not thinking about this rationally."

Draco gave him a little scoffing laugh that sounded too bitter and self-deprecating for his beautiful face. Harry hated seeing that on him. For a moment, he stayed very quiet. "You gave me a lecture once about how you're a creature now and I shouldn't forget it for a second." Draco's jaw tightened, like he knew it would. It almost made him want to smile. "The thing you're not getting is that not a single person at that picnic today, including me, has. We know you're a veela now, and that you run on different rules. That's not a free pass, but we know that and no one is holding it against you that you fucked up _once_ after a one-in-a-million accident. The only person who's not remembering that you're a creature now is you."

Draco's face did a complicated twist. "You want me to just accept that sometimes I'm going to hurt people. That I could kill someone. And that I _shouldn't_ be upset over it."

"I want you to accept that sometimes you may have the urge to respond to things in a more physical and instinctual way, but that even though you definitely need to reign in those impulses, you shouldn't beat yourself up for having them. Everyone has violent or protective impulses - we just don't have the same biological compulsions to act on them." He shrugged.

Draco made a harsh sound in the back of his throat. “I almost _killed_ your friend, Potter,” he repeated, voice low. “You know - _you know_ that the last thing I want to do is be responsible for someone’s death. You know that, and yet you’re still sitting here trying to tell me it’s okay that I could have become a murderer today!” He pushed away from the chess table, stumbling to his feet and staring angrily at Harry from several feet away. There were tears in his eyes that didn’t fall but stayed suspended there to make his silver eyes glisten. “I’m scared, for everyone around me. And myself. I’m scared shitless for myself. What do you think’s gonna happen if I do lose control and kill someone? I won’t just get kicked out of school. You think the Ministry is gonna say “bad veela” and slap me on the wrist? No! I’ll go to Azkaban!”

His chest heaved and Harry stood as well, hoping he didn’t look as crushed as he felt.

“I’ll go to Azkaban,” Draco said again, his huge wings curling around his trembling frame the way they had out at the picnic, when Draco had come back to himself. “And not just me, either - my parents, too. They’ll say - oh, if we were wrong about this one we must have been wrong about all of them, so let’s just toss the lot in prison. Let ‘em rot there.” He gave a hysterical chuckle. Harry glanced down, and winced when he saw Draco’s talloned fist clenched hard enough to draw blood from his palm.

“Well, what about me, you berk?” Harry asked, trying to keep his tone neutral and failing. The hitches in his breath were glaringly obvious. “You think I won’t fight for you?”

“I think there are limits to what even the Boy Who Lived can do.” Draco’s face was paler than usual, even the sparking unable to make him seem any less dour. The worst part was that he knew that Draco was upset for a reason, and a good one. One he couldn’t fix with a pep talk.

It didn’t stop him from trying. “You’re my friend, Draco, and we’re in this together. If I had to become a fugitive again to keep you safe I’d do it - but I won’t _have_ to. I’m here.” He took a step forward, holding his hands out as if Draco were a startled animal. “I’m always going to be here to help you. I’ll be there to make sure things don’t get out of hand, just like I was today.”

“You’re just going to follow me around for the rest of my life and make sure I don’t hurt anyone? Is that your great plan?” He exhaled harshly, crossing his arms.

Harry came forward a step more, and then laid his hands on Draco’s shoulders, holding him firmly. The allure threatened to suffocate him, the allure that had been trying to pull him closer and closer ever since Dean had fallen on top of him earlier, but he kept it at bay. It wasn’t hard when Draco’s face was still screwed up in self-loathing right in front of him. “You won’t need me once you get used to this,” he said softly. “You _will_ figure it out; I promise you that. But when you do, I’m still going to be there. We’re friends, and that’s not going to change even after you figure your veela arse out or after we finish school. Okay?”

Draco hung his head, but didn’t try to shake Harry’s grip off.

"I can't just _accept_ that I'm a monster, Harry," Draco said quietly.

"And I will never accept that you're a monster in the first place," he shrugged. "I'm always gonna be on your side, Draco - I'm here to see the good in you even when you don't."

Draco let out a breath, but just as Harry was about to drag him back to the chess table, he grabbed Harry by the wrist gently and pulled his hands away. “I’m going to bed, Harry. Sorry about the game. We can finish it later.”

“It’s barely four,” Harry protested half-heartedly, but Draco just pulled away entirely.

“And it’s been a long day,” he told him, and he didn’t look back when he retreated to his four poster.

Harry sat by the fire for the rest of the night with his textbooks, watching the drawn curtains around Draco’s bed with a forlorn expression and a heavy heart.

Harry ended up going to bed long before Draco stirred again. He expected Draco to use the restroom at some point - and while he wasn’t planning on jumping him the second he came out, he was watching for it attentively enough that it the moon had been out for hours and he was still lying awake.

Instead, he heard Draco crying – or at least the beginning of it. It was a low, soft sound at first, and Harry didn’t say anything - but then Draco’s breath hitched and his curtains ruffled like he was stretching his wings.

He sat up, and when the bed creaked Draco went quiet for a moment before, very quietly, he murmured, “Harry?”

Without hesitating, he slid out of bed and padded gently over to Draco’s four poster. As he approached, several long ivory-tipped feathers poked out of the curtains and pushed them to the side. “Go back to bed,” Draco said quietly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” He didn’t look like he’d been crying, but he generally always looked flawless so Harry wasn’t particularly surprised.

“I was already awake,” he replied, and stood there with his hands in his pajama pockets until Draco sighed and scooted backwards enough to give Harry room to slide onto the bed. He did, and chose not to take it personally when Draco pulled his wings away and left at least a foot between them. He didn’t lay down - he couldn’t fathom that kind of closeness, not feeling the way he did about Draco. Instead, he sat cross legged and looked down at Draco, who was on his side pointedly not looking at Harry at all.

“Do we have to do this?”

“You were crying.”

“And we really don’t need to talk about it, do we?” Draco huffed, finally turning his head to glare at him. “You can’t exactly blame me for being upset.”

“And _you_ can’t blame me for being concerned for my best friend.”

He liked to think that Draco’s eyes softened just the littlest bit.

“You get attached too easily,” he muttered, but the tight pull of his wings against his body relaxed a little.

“I don’t think you can say anything because you’re just as attached to me,” he pointed out conversationally. “I’m yours, don’t you remember?” He really hoped that Draco didn’t pick up on how soft his voice got when he said it, but he also couldn’t _not_ bring it up - not when he couldn’t get it out of his head. He pulled on a smirk to cover it up, though Draco didn’t even really look at him.

Still, Harry had a hard time not laughing when Draco immediately groaned, reaching a hand up to cover his face. Harry had never been so enamored of him, and he wasn’t entirely convinced it was because of the allure. "I thought no one was holding anything that happened at the picnic against me."

"I said we weren't holding the assault against you," Harry teased, unable to keep the fondness out of his tone. "But _that_? That I'm holding against you." With Draco still groaning, eyes closed and pinching at the bridge of his nose, he allowed his smirk to soften into something genuine and fond. "It's not like it isn't true, anyway. We've got a thing now," he added, smiling even wider when Draco's grousing got louder. "We're gonna be friends for a very long time, Draco Malfoy - you're mine as much as I'm _yours_."

Draco still kept his face covered - probably to hide his eyes - but he audibly chuckled. It sounded weak, but at least it was genuine, which was all Harry wanted. "Stop saying that, you berk - it makes the veela brain go all fluttery and I refuse to feel fluttery over _you_ of all people."

It probably said something that hearing that made Harry's grin turn into something that was probably stupid, fond, and felt premature even though it had been coming for months.

"Flutter away," he encouraged, and felt warm when Draco just dropped his hands to glare at him with pink cheeks. It stayed with him even after he went back to his own bed.

* * *

 

Though Draco was the first person up, as usual, and had seemed okay when they’d gone back to their own beds, Harry knew the second that he got up and saw the rigid lines of his wings that he wasn’t. His mouth was drawn and his eyes were tired – he had bags under his eyes and looked like he hadn’t slept at all. Harry wasn’t surprised by it, but Draco was irate for the rest of the day.

He spent the afternoon and evening answering every question with monosyllables, and whenever Harry tried to offer help or a distraction, he’d only sigh and say he needed to work on his potions project. They played one half-assed game of chess before bed – their go to when they couldn’t figure out another way to pass time together without going nuts – and Draco didn’t even wait for Harry to check his king before he declared that he was going to try and get some extra sleep.

It killed him to see Draco so down. He didn’t take it personally, because Draco could be short and irritable on a good day, but it was still a jarring chance considering how friendly they’d gotten when it was just them in spite of his cool nature. Harry understood that he needed time to work through what had happened, but it was hard to accept that it wasn’t something he could help with. Over the past several months, they hadn’t had any major issues that Harry couldn’t talk him down from when he was upset. It was selfish, but he liked knowing that he was the one who knew how to get through to Draco. Now, he’d already said his piece, and it wasn’t good enough.

Draco didn’t improve the next day, either.

“We have two meetings today,” Harry reminded slowly, standing by their work desk. He’d been putting together their completed assignments to take with them, but when he’d asked Draco to help, he’d snapped that he wasn’t going.

Draco didn’t even look up from where he sat cross-legged in front of the fire, drafting his potion proposal for his final project. “Both of these meetings are for you,” Harry pointed out, trying not to get frustrated and failing. “I don’t even have class with Babbling.”

“And I said I need you to turn in my work and get next week’s for me. I don’t feel up to going out right now.”

“What am I supposed to tell our professors when they ask where you are?” he asked, exasperated.

Draco glared up at him frostily, one eyebrow arching enough for the fire to highlight the shimmering skin of his eyelid that was normally dull under the shadow of his brow. “You can make something up for all I care, Potter – hell, just tell them I nearly killed someone the other day and don’t want a repeat of it. That’ll shut them up.”

“I’m not telling anyone that and you know it,” he snapped. He opened his mouth for a sharp retort, if not a witty one, but forced himself to take a deep breath instead. Yelling at Draco wouldn’t help, especially since he wasn’t actually angry. “I just don’t want you to lock yourself away.”

Draco let the ice thaw at his quiet admission and his obvious white flag, but his expression was still uncomfortably blank. “Harry. Locking me away was always the plan – and now we’ve both see why.” Harry couldn’t even think of a way to argue. “Just go. Give my apologizes to Sprout and Babbling.”

He turned away, fully expecting Harry to leave. Without a better idea and more common sense than to piss Draco off further, he did, but it didn’t sit right with him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that leaving was the wrong choice, and it was worse that Draco had been so unhappy when he’d left – he wasn’t just leaving; he was leaving Draco alone with himself.

His stormy face was probably the reason no one said hello in the hall, including the younger girls that tended to giggle whenever they saw him. There had been less of that lately, considering that Draco tended to steal the attention – but he wasn’t around, and Harry’s mood was the worse for it.

Professor Babbling was short as usual, accepting Draco’s assignments and handing Harry a simple outline for the next week, as well as the name of a book he’d need to grab from the library for Draco while he was out. Normally, her curtness made him feel like he was being dismissed the second he walked into the room, but he actually appreciated it right then.

Professor Sprout, on the other hand, babbled unnecessarily for an extra ten minutes. Harry smiled tightly through it, accepted his and Draco’s work, and discussed his project with her – which proved difficult, considering that he’d barely started. She seemed to think that because he wasn’t in class that he had infinite time – instead of extra work to make up for losing hands on practice in _every class_. He traded a frustrated expression with Neville, who was chatting quietly with Luna and grimacing in his direction while she waited for her class to start.

Keeping him late had caused Luna’s class to start late, and when Harry finally got away, Neville kissed her quickly and followed him out.

“You looked like you were about to explode in there,” Neville said with a wince when he got the greenhouse door shut behind him, wiping his dirty hands on his trousers and crossing his arms to protect against the cold. He’d left his robes somewhere, but Harry couldn’t blame him because even in winter, the greenhouses could get _steamy_ , especially with a full class of students inside.

“That’s because I _was_ ,” Harry groaned, wishing he could drop the stack of parchment and books he was carrying around and throw a fit like a child. “I’d get this assignment done faster if she’d quit fucking _droning_ during these meetings.”

Neville raised an eyebrow slowly, looking concerned. “Yeah, you looked like you were about to explode when you came _in_. Sprout just made it worse.” Harry winced and Neville clapped him on the shoulder. “Alright, mate – what’s going on? Is it Draco?” He paused. “Is it about the thing with Dean?”

“You have time to follow me to the library?” he offered. “Come with me to get this book Draco needs and I’ll tell you all about it.” Neville didn’t respond aloud; he just nodded toward the castle and they started slowly trekking inside.

“So, Draco? Or did the thought of Sprout just ruin your whole day?” Harry rolled his eyes for Neville’s sake, but he couldn’t give him any more enthusiasm than that. Neville frowned. “Definitely Draco. Spill the beans, Potter.”

Harry sighed. “It’s not just Draco – I was frustrated about all this work I have to do, but… Draco’s not in a great place. And it’s not one of those times when people are upset about something stupid and need a day or two to recoup. It’s a serious issue, and I can’t do shit to help him.”

“All his issues are serious issues,” Neville pointed out. “His whole life just got flipped around, and that’s not to mention the war that _already_ flipped it around. You’re not responsible for fixing it every time something messes him up.”

“Well, I feel like I am,” he countered. He knew it wasn’t a good argument, but it was the truth. “We’ve become real friends, you know? It sounds crazy when you know our history, but we’ve made it work. I care about him, and what happened the other day… it didn’t just throw him for a loop. It threw him off the damn broom. He gets so much shit for being a Death Eater, or being evil and whatnot, but he’s not like that. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone, and the other day he could have seriously hurt Dean. It’s killing him.”

Neville was quiet for a moment, and didn’t say anything when they reached the castle. He followed Harry inside, and when they were settled walking side by side again, he cleared his throat. “I’m not actually qualified to, erm, help with that. You know that, right?”

Harry gave him a flat look. “Neither am I, Neville. That’s the problem.”

“None of us are qualified for any of this,” he agreed. Harry could remember a time when it would have sounded whiny, but Neville had changed so much over the years – more than any of them had. He and Hermione, Seamus and Dean – even Draco – they were the same people they used to be, with battle experience and worldly depression. Neville was the only one of them who had really challenged himself and changed. “But we’ve still got to deal with it. Every single person who goes to this school could a mind healer or two. It’s a miracle any of us have made it without a nervous breakdown, Draco included.”

“You’re not actually helping,” Harry told him, a little mystified. Not only was Neville not helping, he was making Harry feel worse about the situation, which he frankly wasn’t sure was possible.

“My point is,” Neville snorted, raising his voice over Harry’s grumbling. “We’ve all got shit on our shoulders. Draco’s shit might be worse comparatively, but it’s not like not being able to fix him makes you a bad friend. You _died,_ mate, and none of us could help you deal with that. It doesn’t make us bad friend. It means sometimes, things are beyond our scope of knowledge and understanding and amateur mind-healing skills.”

“So don’t beat myself up,” he summarized, and Neville nodded. “Well, that’s all well and good, but it doesn’t help me not feel awful because he feels awful.”

“That’s just empathy,” Neville told him. “And also, probably a little bit because you’re in love with him.” When Harry turned an incredulous look in his direction, he raised his hands in a mock defensive position. “That’s Hermione and Luna’s pet theory, in any case. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“Why are Hermione and Luna talking about me being in love with Draco?” he asked, voice raising ever so slightly in pitch. “And I’m not in love with him – I’m in like, at best. In mild fancying. If anything.” The more he spoke, the more he knew he was digging himself a hole, but at least it was Neville he was digging it with. Neville was the least likely of his friends to be a prick about it.

“Okay, Hermione and Luna aren’t talking about it – Hermione might have said something to me, and I might have said something to Luna, but –“ He raised his voice when Harry made an offended sound. “But you can’t be mad about that, because Luna was just asking about you and it’s rude to keep secrets from your girlfriend.”

Harry scowled. “I know I wasn’t that stupid with Ginny.”

Neville, who had learned over the past few years that being called stupid meant absolutely nothing, just smiled. “But you and Gin broke up, didn’t you? And I don’t want to break up with Luna, so I’ll keep on being stupid, thanks.” He grinned. “Besides, you’re being stupid over Malfoy, so…”

“Y’know, this conversation could end? Right now, actually,” he grumbled, and let Neville steer the topic to something less personal and more lighthearted – like Dean and Seamus, who had apparently gotten caught shagging in an empty classroom by McGonagall in the two days since Harry had seen them last.

By the time he got Draco’s book and got back to their rooms, he was feeling much better and as a result, more confident in his ability to be a good companion for Draco, even if the veela was still upset or broody or whatever else his mood could have turned to in the hour and a half he’d been gone.

He nodded at Geraint when he walked up, gave him the password, and stepped inside the portrait hole carrying more new assignments than he’d taken to turn in. When he got inside, Draco was still quietly sitting in the armchair reading, but his expression had taken a turn for the frustrated. Something told Harry that he hadn’t turned the page in a while.

Harry watched him for a second, but broke his gaze out of habit before the allure could get its grips into him. It was mild at the moment due to Draco being alone and more or less relaxed, but Harry wasn’t going to tempt fate. Instead, he walked forward to set their assignments on their work table.

“Babbling told me you’d need another book for one of your assignments this week, so I went to the library,” he said as casually as he could. “Sorry I was gone so long.”

Draco set his own book down and sat there, watching Harry sort their assignments. “Thank you. I was wondering where you were.” Instead of going back to the book and ignoring him, like he had been for the past couple days, Draco instead set the book aside entirely, the pinched twist of his mouth smoothing out slightly.

The thing was, Harry didn’t know what to say. If he brought up the picnic again, he stood a good chance of making Draco angry. If he ignored Draco’s behavior he could accidentally make Draco think he didn’t care - it was a lose-lose. While he tried to figure out a good way to start a conversation that wouldn’t inevitably end badly, he grabbed a couple of his own books to get some of his shorter readings out of the way and settled on the couch, fully expecting Draco to take a long shower or crawl into bed early.

Instead, Draco surprised him. He climbed out of the armchair and settled down across from Harry. The sofa sunk under his weight, and when Harry looked over Draco was blinking at him in a way that seemed half-tired and half-sad. He sat with his back to the armrest and, without even hesitating, lifted his legs to tuck his feet under Harry’s thighs. It was the most physical contact they’d had since Draco had pulled Harry’s hands off his shoulder the night of the picnic.

He shifted to cover more of the pale expanse of Draco’s feet with his leg, letting a hand fall to cover the top of them. It felt overly familiar, but Draco didn’t complain at all and he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. “Cold?”

Draco nodded, shifting so he could let his head knock against the back of the couch, resting there with his cheek pressed into the soft cushion. “What’cha reading?” he asked quietly. “Work or pleasure?”

“Always work,” Harry huffed gently, smiling a little. His index finger was moving just the smallest bit, tracing a line up and down over the top of Draco’s right foot. He hoped that Draco wouldn’t notice. “Who reads for pleasure?”

Draco didn’t laugh, but he did let one side of his mouth lift just enough to warm his expression. “Plebian.”

Harry did laugh, but when Draco didn’t say anything else, he took the plunge. He knocked his head back against the cushion and turned it just enough so that he could look at Draco. “You’ve been down the past couple days.”

Draco sighed, but he didn’t close off the way Harry half-expected him to. He opened his mouth to reply, and had to pause for a moment to yawn. Nicely timed, as it turned out. “‘M still not sleeping well,” Draco answered, resigned. “Didn’t really sleep at all these past couple nights. Couldn’t get my brain to shut down, and the veela parts were all restless.” To punctuate his statement, his wings flared a little bit before settling again, one wing covering the back of the couch behind Draco’s head.

“I’m sorry, mate,” he replied. “Maybe you should go to sleep early.” He’d been a little upset at the notion when he’d thought it was an avoidance technique, but Draco clearly wasn’t using it for that. He was just tired, and Harry didn’t like the way he seemed drained.

Draco shrugged. “I don’t want to move right now. It feels a little better being close to you, since you’re part of my veela-pack or whatever.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is flock,” Harry offered, only sort of teasing him.

In return, Draco _only sort of_ flipped him off. “I’m not a bloody _bird_ , arsehole,” he snorted with a roll of the eyes.

“Right,” Harry agreed amicably. “You’re only part bird. Sorry.” He laughed when Draco reached out to punch him in the arm. “Ow, you prick,” he groaned when the hit landed, dropping his book into his lap to rub at his arm. “Scale back on the veela strength.”

Draco winced, reaching back over to pat him on the shoulder gently. “Sorry. Didn’t even think about it.” He buried his face in his hands, sighing loudly. After a moment, he looked up again, only to cover his face a second time. “Alright, look," he mumbled from behind his hands. "I’m also sorry about being nasty earlier before you left. You have every right to be cross, because you put up with a lot of shit from me and I shouldn’t be taking anything out on you.”

Harry bit his lip to hide a smile. “Been sitting on that since I left, eh?”

He made a face. “Felt all itchy and upset the second you walked out. Apparently, being a dick to the only member of my _flock_ isn’t good for the ‘ol veela instincts.” When Harry snorted a laugh, he managed a bit of a smirk himself. “I do mean it, though. I’m a nightmare to be around sometimes and you’ve managed alright, so I’d like it if you stuck around.”

Though he said it as though it were hyperbole, it was the first time that Harry could recall that Draco admitted he actually wanted Harry to be around him. He didn’t say anything about it, but as he brushed off Draco’s apology, he squeezed Draco’s feet a little. Draco was noticeably calmer after that, so he called it a win-win, ignoring the way touching Draco made his palm tingle ever so slightly.

By the time they got to bed that night – Draco earlier than him though not, unlike the past two nights, by much – the veela was visibly less restless and much more easy going. He was still solemn, but Harry would be, too, and Draco had calmed down enough to no longer take it out on others.

As he fell asleep, he took comfort that the only sound he could hear from Draco’s bed was the shifting of sheets as he turned.

 


	14. Chapter 14

“Let me get this straight. You… still do not want to go to our meetings, and would rather I talk to our professors for you.”

“Yes.”

“You would also rather that I not leave without you.”

“… Yes.”

Harry managed to hold Draco’s gaze for a moment, but even Draco knew he was being ridiculous and it showed in the way he was grimacing. They were sat on the couch again, facing one another, but Draco wasn’t touching him at all this time. He had his knees brought up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them – defensive, yet stubborn. In other words, classic Draco.

“That’s a bit of a contradiction,” he said mildly. “You want to talk me through your logic here?”

Draco glared at him with silver eyes. Harry would have been concerned about him getting worked up if he wasn’t nearly positive that Draco was doing it as an intimidation tactic. “I don’t want to go out and risk hurting anyone again.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m following that bit. What I don’t get is why you got mad when I mentioned going out to take care of things for you – which is what you wanted me to do in the first place.”

“I didn’t want you to go out alone, without me!” he snapped. He looked about as exhausted as he did frustrated – he didn’t have proper bags under his eyes, but it was obvious he was fatigued, and he’d been yawning since he crawled out of bed that morning. Harry had listened to him toss and turn all night, and it was no wonder with how upset Draco still was. Still, he worried about Draco’s sleeping habits. It had been nearly a week and he’d probably not slept more than an hour or two a night. It was really starting to show in his irritability, and the way he’d take power naps on the couch while Harry read beside him, only to wake more frustrated and lethargic than before whenever Harry got up and jostled him on accident.

“That’s actually exactly what you wanted,” Harry corrected. “That, literally, is what the plan was – me going out so you don’t have to.”

“I know that!” His wings fluttered agitatedly. “But what _you’re_ not getting is that you leaving without me feels _bad_ , okay? I felt all wrong when you left yesterday and I thought it was because I felt guilty about how I treated you, but when you got ready to leave today I realized I just really don’t like you going out where I can’t protect you.”

Harry had been ready to argue, but by the time Draco finished he was just sitting there with his mouth slightly open. He simply looked at Draco for a second, trying to formulate a response that wasn’t a repetition of what had just been said. “So the problem is that Veela-Draco wants one thing and Draco-Draco wants another. Instinct versus reason.”

“Exactly,” Draco agreed, no longer combative but still grumpy. “I’m not saying it’s reasonable – I’m saying that’s how I feel, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

Harry sighed softly, sympathetic. “We can’t really compromise on this one, mate. This is something you need to get over one way or the other. Either you come out with me or you put up with me being gone for a while.” Draco’s face screwed up. Harry understood the conflict and why it was happening, but there was nothing he could do to fix it and they both knew it.

“I can’t,” he said quietly. “Harry, I can’t be around people right now. I won’t hurt you, so you’re okay but - I’m not going out.” His face suggested that the words tasted sour in his mouth, but it was nothing compared to the plain fear in his eyes. As if to lift the mood, he gave Harry a strained smile. “I just need you to go out and do what you need to do _quickly_ , before I start moulting due to stress or something horrid like that.”

Harry was surprised into laughter. “Nothing like that’s going to happen,” he snorted. “There was nothing about moulting in any of the books I’ve read.”

“It’s not like these things should really get any more troublesome,” Draco agreed with a heavy sigh. He ruffled his wings purposefully, and Harry had to hide a fond smile. Or, at least, he tried to hide it. “If you like them so much, why don’t you be the winged boy wonder,” Draco groused at him, and Harry put up his hands defensively.

“You can’t fault me for liking them, you prat,” he said with a laugh. “They’re perfectly lovely; you just have a complex.”

They bickered for a little while, with Draco spurring the playful arguments on. Harry saw right through him, but he wasn’t going to let himself get distracted from the fact that he had to meet with Slughorn and the new Defense professor in half an hour. He also didn’t call Draco on it because frankly, bringing it up would just restart the actual argument.

It didn’t stop Draco from getting agitated when he started gathering their assignments, but it did keep him calm enough to let Harry leave without any major incidents.

He caught the last half of a frustrated huff as the portrait swung shut behind him, and at the sound of it he winced. “Sir Geraint?”

The knight looked down at him. Everything seemed to be polished at the moment, because he was just sitting there on a stool and waving at passersby. “What can I do for you, young man?”

Harry looked up imploringly. “I know this isn’t your job, but… if you hear something bad going on inside with Draco, could you send word through the other portraits? Because he’s not doing so well, and…” He let the sentence trail off, but raised an eyebrow at Geraint to make sure he got the message.

The knight smiled reassuringly. “I will happily send you word if anything happens. Fear not.” Harry thanked him, only briefly wondering about whether or not they trained him to talk like he did, because surely the painting wasn’t a truly accurate representation. Regardless, he kept the curiosity down and slipped away, feeling marginally better with the assurance that the portraits would watch out for him.

Harry hated the timing of these meetings, because he always wound up in the halls right after classes got out – swarms of people that were barely easier to deal with sans Draco than they were with.

When he walked into the room, Slughorn was waiting for him with a small smile and waved him over. “Harry, my boy! Come in. Where’s Draco?”

Harry smiled tightly. “He’s not feeling well, professor. I’m sorry.”

Slughorn shook his head, waving vaguely at Harry. “Don’t worry,” he said. “There isn’t too much that we need to go over today if you have all your assignments to turn in.” He took the offered papers from Harry and gestured for him to take a seat in the front row, right by Slughorn’s brewing table. He set the papers aside. “Next week, I’m expecting a potion sample from you, which you should already know about, and we also need to schedule the timed pair brewing activity for you and Mr. Malfoy.”

Harry nodded. None of that was new news. “I’ll need to stop by for ingredients sometime this week… to be honest, I think it would be more efficient if I just brewed in here. Would it bother you if I came in one evening after classes?”

Slughorn beamed at him. “Not at all, Harry. You and Mr. Malfoy are welcome, so long as you clean up after yourselves.”

He agreed easily, and rushed through Slughorn’s usual small talk before he handed over their schedules for the next week. Once he had them, he cut Slughorn off entirely. “I’ve got to be going, professor – I have another meeting I need to get to.”

Slughorn waved him off and Harry left at a speedwalk. He really did only have a few minutes to get to his meeting with Goobily, he thought with a wince as he made his way out of the dungeons.

“Oh, Harry!” Luckily, Luna didn’t hesitate to fall into step next to him, not saying a word about how quickly he was walking. “You don’t mind if I walk with you, do you? We haven’t had the chance to talk much lately.”

He grinned at her sheepishly, leading her toward the Defense classroom. “You’re right – sorry about that. It hasn’t been on purpose.”

She just smiled, hopping slightly with every few steps to keep up with him. “I’m not worried about it, Harry – of course you want to spend time with Malfoy. I was just saying that I’ve missed you.” He opened his mouth to ask her what she meant by the comment about Draco, but she wasn’t even paying attention. “We should all have dinner soon, don’t you think? I heard about the eighth year picnic; it sounded lovely. Something like that maybe.”

Lovely wasn’t the word Harry would have used to summarize the affair, but he understood Luna’s point. “You’re right,” he agreed easily. “We should. Draco’s not feeling well right now, but perhaps when he’s feeling a bit better…?”

She lit up. “Oh, yes! It would be so nice to invite Malfoy, if he’d like to come. I’d love to get to know him better. He was very nice to me when I was kept at the Manor. Always brought me extra biscuits when he could.”

Harry hadn’t known that, and it sent warmth through him to know it. Even more than that, however, he wanted to flush at the realization that he’d assumed that Luna was inviting him and Draco as a unit – it said a lot about the way he thought about Draco, things he still wasn’t totally ready to admit to.

Before he could respond to Luna, however, they were interrupted by a small girl in green robes, who came up to him with purpose and began walking on his other side. He recognized her vaguely as one of the first years – he couldn’t remember her name from the sorting, only her face and hair, because she looked vaguely like an Italian Hermione with the brown curls and sharp eyes. None of this, however, explained why she was pressed so close to his side that she was actually starting to push him sideways as they walked.

“Can I… can I help you?” he asked her, confused. She very pointedly didn’t look at him.

“Don’t talk to me,” she sniffed, almost adorably haughty for a kid her size. She was still pressed against him, which made the way she was glaring ahead without looking at him a little strange. If she was going for nonchalant about the whole thing, she was missing it by a mile.

Harry was still trying to avoid being late for his meeting, so he was hesitant to stop completely, but he did turn his head to glance at her as he maneuvered between passing students. Luna was peering at them both curiously.

“Just passing through, eh?” He raised an eyebrow. She turned her head to turn her glare to him, brown curls bouncing.

“I just – can’t you wait until we turn this corner? Act _natural_.” With that she checked over her shoulder quickly and turned the corner with him.

They walked a little further, and when she still didn’t explain but stuck close to him, scanning the crowd, he sighed and stopped, pulling off to the side of the hall. For a second, she glanced around, the sudden panic in her eyes putting a pit in Harry’s stomach, before she spotted him again and flitted to his side.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “Clearly something’s up here – do I even know you?”

She wouldn’t look at him, but when another group of students turned the corner she paled and turned to him so quickly it sent her curls bouncing again. “Edward told us that if we were getting bothered or we didn’t feel safe we should come to you if you’re around.” She looked up at him with huge eyes. “And Slytherins don’t need help, okay. I wasn’t… we’re not asking for help, but he said that they probably wouldn’t bother us if we were around you. So I was just hoping I could walk by you for a little bit until I got closer to class.”

‘Walking by him’ didn’t quite cover what she’d been doing, but he didn’t blame her for sticking close, especially not when he saw a Gryffindor third year sneering in her direction. When he saw Harry, Harry made a point of glaring fiercely at him. He turned away quickly, walking away with his friends, who had also taken one glance at Harry’s broad-shouldered stance before going on their way. He noted that the passing Slytherins, who were all grouped closely together as they walked, gave the sneering Gryffindors a wide berth.

When they were gone and he’d resigned himself to a tongue lashing from Goobily for being late, he looked back down at the girl. “Who’s Edward?” he asked instead of any of his other pressing questions.

“Nott, I’d assume,” Luna answered for the girl, who looked a little surprised that she’d spoken up. To be fair, she’d been quiet the entire time and even Harry had been a little startled when she’d answered. “Theodore’s younger brother, right?”

The girl nodded.

Harry bit his lower lip, thinking. “I thought he didn’t like me much.”

“He doesn’t,” the girl quipped easily, smirking a little, but then she quieted. “But we watch out for our own, and Eddy told all the first and second years that we stand a better chance of making it through the year alive if we could avoid the older students, and you’re good at stopping them, so…”

Harry frowned, but he couldn’t deny that it was smart of Nott. It wasn’t like Harry was against the idea either. “First of all, you’re not in danger of dying so don’t be so melodramatic. But…” He sighed. “He was right. If you think it’ll help, feel free to tell the others I’m in on it.”

Her eyes widened and to the side, Luna smiled knowingly, as if she’d predicted what he would say. “You don’t mind? If we come up to you in the hall? You’re not worried the others will get mad at you for cavorting with Slytherins?”

He had to bite back a chuckle at her phrasing. _Cavorting_. “Don’t worry about it. As a matter of fact – any of us eighth years, you spread the word that we’re all on your side, okay?”

“What about that blonde Hufflepuff?” she pointed out, narrowing her eyes at him. “He hates us just as much as the others.” He winced at the mention – _fucking Finch-Fletchley_ , he thought to himself.

“Yeah, well, he’s a prick. I didn’t mean him and I think you know it,” he told her. “I meant the other eighth years. Me, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas… all of _us_. When in doubt, stick to the eighth year Gryffindors, but the others are mostly on your side, too.”

“They’re all just going to go along with this? For _us_?”

Harry felt… frankly quite shitty, seeing the disbelief on her face. “Of course they will. It isn’t right, how you’re being treated.”

“You can come find me, too,” Luna offered. “I’m not an eighth year, but I won’t let anyone bother you.”

The girl looked like she wanted to grimace at the thought, but the fact that she’d come to Harry in the first place said that she would take Luna up on it if she had to. She clearly felt unsafe and Harry knew first hand that there was never a teacher around when you really needed one.

“Look,” Harry said as gently as he thought he could get away with without her feeling like he was treating her like a child. “What’s your next class? I can walk you there. And what’s your name?”

She swallowed. “It’s Amelie,” she answered guardedly. “And I have Transfiguration.” He frowned, debating – it wasn’t all that close to the Defense room, but her safety was more important.

“I’m headed that way, Harry,” Luna told him serenely. “I’ll walk her there. You go on, you were already in a rush when I came up to you.”

“Thanks, Luna.” He patted her on the shoulder. “Bye, Amelie. Remember what I said, yeah?”

She nodded, distrusting and trusting at the same time. He watched them go for a second, Luna casually chattering at the pained looking first year, before he made his way down the now mostly empty hallway.

He kept thinking about Amelie all the way through the scolding Goobily gave him, and on the way back to his and Draco’s rooms, too. He was glad, on one hand, that she’d come to him, but he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t surprised that Nott was recommending him to the younger students. It made sense – he rather thought that even third year Draco would have swallowed his pride to protect the younger ones if this had been happening when they were kids. He just hated that it was bad enough that the younger students _needed_ protecting. He’d never realized that the younger students were in as much trouble as they were – as stupid as his rationalization was for letting Draco and the other older Slytherins get bullied was, even he couldn’t have rationalized harassing _kids_.

As he walked up to the portrait of Sir Geraint, the knight waved briefly. “Welcome back, young man. No emergencies have occurred since you left.”

“Er, thanks, Sir Geraint,” he said, trying for a genuine smile and probably failing. He meant it genuinely, though, and he hoped the portrait recognized that. “I appreciate you keeping an eye out. _Deus ex machina._ ”

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that when he climbed in through their portrait, he didn’t realize for a moment that Draco wasn’t alone – but he did notice when he was nearly blasted with the allure. For a minute, he was properly startled; Geraint _had_ said there hadn’t been any emergencies, but Draco looked frantic. “Draco, what’s going –“

Draco leapt over the back of the couch to rush at him with talons out and wings raised in the air. He startled badly, nearly dropping their new schedules for the week, but when Draco got closer he dropped them anyway, stepping forward for Draco’s perusal. He couldn’t look away from Draco’s huge silver eyes. He knew that he was being pulled in by the thrall, was at very real risk of being veela struck, but he also couldn’t pull away, not when Draco looked so frantic and so _damn beautiful_ it killed him.

“Hey, Potter,” Pansy called from the couch, causing Draco to growl. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, and couldn’t – but it was enough of a distraction to pull himself together in spite of the way the allure was pressing down on him like humid air.

“Draco,” he managed, but then Draco slid a hand from Harry’s shoulder to his neck, just under his ear, so that he could keep Harry’s head in place while he looked him over. He shuddered at the skin contact, the allure nearly suffocating. It was as if everything in the room had whited out, Draco the only real, solid thing in the world. There was a heat simmering low in his belly.

That, naturally, was when Pansy spoke up again, a little firmer than before. “He’s back, Draco – kindly calm the fuck down and let Potter breathe. I can feel your love-me-I’m-a-veela pheromones from over here and they’re not even directed at me.”

Harry sucked in a huge breath, pulled back from the allure again. He felt a headache coming on at the back-and-forth being played with his awareness, and closed his eyes to taper off both problems.

“Draco,” he said again, shaky. “She’s right; calm down. I’m here, I’m fine – I need you to relax, mate.” Draco’s hands loosened a little, and he let Harry reach up to pull his hand away from Harry’s skin. The lack of skin-on-skin contact helped tremendously and after a minute or so of matching each other’s breathing, Harry pulled away entirely. Draco let him, even if he looked forlorn for a moment, before he shook his head and pulled himself more or less together.

“Please don’t do that again,” Draco said, closing his own eyes in order to breathe and re-orient himself. “The leaving and being gone for ages, I mean. I wrote Pansy and asked her to come over because I thought I was going to go mad, and she literally had to stand ten feet away and distract me with petty drama so I wouldn’t go out after you.” That explained why Geraint hadn’t called for him – Draco had taken the matter into his own hands, which was both heartening that he’d the presence of mind to do so and worrying that he’d _had_ to.

Harry grimaced. “Yeah, I’m starting to think it’s not a good idea either,” he agreed softly. Part of him wanted to take Draco’s hand, to bring back that comforting connectedness he’d felt there for a moment. The rest of him knew it was a bad idea.  

“I’ll come out with you again, if we’re careful about it, but I can’t… I don’t know why but the veela brain fucking lost its _mind_ when you left.” He opened his eyes and looked at Harry, almost green. He looked sickened. “I can’t do that again, Harry. I really can’t. I couldn’t think of anything except getting to you.”

Pansy made her way over carefully, keeping her distance and remaining more on Harry’s side than Draco’s. “He’s right, Potter,” she informed him. She didn’t look happy either; she kept biting at her lip and glancing at Draco like she was worried he’d flip out again. He wouldn’t call it fear, but she was obviously unsettled and worried. “I think something’s wrong with him; this isn’t normal behavior, even for veela.”

Harry was starting to see that – with the not sleeping and separation anxiety, Draco had been getting increasingly antsy. Draco, however, just made a face at her. “Since when are you the expert on veela? I’m fine, I just… my instincts are still messed up over thinking Harry was being threatened the other day. I’ve been on edge because of it.” He shrugged. “That’s it. I’m fine, I just need a little extra time to get my head on straight again.”

She didn’t look like she was falling for it, but she shrugged too. “If you say so, Draco. I just thought I should say something.” She plastered an only semi-fake smile on her face and turned to Harry. “Well, now that you’re back, fancy a game of exploding snap? I brought cards and Draco’s been in too much of a snit to play properly…” She trailed off, looking at him expectantly.

“Sure,” he agreed easily, and he made sure his body language was relaxed when he gestured toward the couch and put a hand on Draco’s shoulder to guide him over with them. He didn’t complain about it, likely because he still wanted to stay close, but he also announced he didn’t want to play before either of them managed to ask. Instead, he watched with heckling commentary as they played, and slowly he managed to relax himself.

Pansy stayed for another two hours (and was delighted when the house elves brought her dinner with Harry and Draco’s). When she got up to leave Draco just smiled and risked a minor incident to reach out and squeeze her hand. She got a little starry-eyed but pulled away regardless, and Harry was pleased to see no hesitation when they’d touched. Pansy had been a little off when it came to being close to Draco since the incident last time she’d been in their rooms, but they’d had steady improvement since.

Almost too late, he remembered what had happened in the hall with Amelie; the incident with Draco had put it entirely out of his mind. “Hey, Pansy –“ he called, getting up while she gathered her cards and got ready to head out. “Could I talk to you for a second?”

He wasn’t against saying anything in front of Draco, but he didn’t complain when she nodded toward the portrait hole and stopped just before heading outside. “What’s up, boy wonder?” she asked, snarky as ever. Harry paused for a second, trying to figure out how to word what he wanted to say. “Did you just want to stand and look at me for a minute?”

He rolled his eyes as her snark. “No – something happened in the hall earlier and I wanted to make sure a message got passed along. Apparently, Edward Nott has been telling some of the younger Slytherins to come find me in the halls if they’re being bothered. I told the girl today, Amelia, that she can come to any of us eighth years. Well, not Justin, but I figured you knew that.” Pansy raised her eyebrows but gestured for him to continue. “I was just hoping you’d help let them all know. If anyone’s bothering them, or you and Blaise, feel free to bring it to us.”

“We don’t need you to be our white knight, Potter,” Pansy told him slowly. She looked torn between gratitude and anger. Harry could understand that – no one liked feeling like they were at the mercy of others.

“I’m not suggesting we start acting as bodyguards,” he told her firmly. “I’m just saying – I once walked in on a group of four Hufflepuff and Gryffindor students heckling _two_ third year Slytherins. These were fifth and six year students bullying a couple thirteen year olds. I know we can’t just go around protecting all of you all the time but if no one else is going to stop those little pricks, we have to because they’re not playing fair. It’s not all of the younger students, but it’s enough of them and no one is saying anything.”

“Slytherins pride themselves on dealing with their own problems, Potter. I’ll tell the others what you said, but I can’t guarantee they’ll come to you for help. It’s humiliating,” she warned. Then, she looked away, exhaling. “But you’re right. A lot of them are going too far.” She scratched at her arm, over one of the few scars left from the boil curse that Draco had told him about. He wouldn’t even have realized what they were if Draco hadn’t said something.

“I just want them to know we’re not going to stand around and let it happen, okay?” he summarized gently. “That if they see us in the hall, we’ll walk with them for a bit so they’re not out alone. That sort of thing. I don’t want them thinking that no one is going to help if kids like Cuthbert start getting violent or nasty with them.”

She grimaced at the sound of the name, but nodded. Harry wondered if she’d had a run in with the prick herself. “Just make sure the rest of the eighth years know you’re making promises on their behalf,” she told him pointedly, and he nodded in spite of knowing that even if someone objected, Hermione and Neville would convince them. “Bye, then. Bye, Draco.” She added the last bit at a slightly louder volume, and Draco waved before she left.

“Thanks for coming, Pans,” Draco called, and she gave him a half-arsed thumbs up in reply before leaving.

Once she was gone, Harry went back over to Draco. He put his hands on the back of the couch and leaned over a bit. He didn’t want to just sit around for the rest of the night, especially not since Draco would be guaranteed to take a nap on the couch if he did and leave him with nothing to do but read or do homework.

“Fancy going for another stroll by the lake?” he asked, giving Draco a little smile when he looked up. “In an hour or two there won’t be any other students out.” He prayed that Draco wouldn’t bring up how well that had worked last time they went outside, and was relieved when Draco nodded a little warily.

“I could be convinced,” he said slowly. They did a little work while they waited – Harry finishing up his Herbology project, mainly – and by the time they figured it was okay to go out into the halls Draco was actually looking forward to it. He had his cloak charmed on before Harry even got off the armchair he’d settled in, and he’d led the way out of the castle, wings ruffled excitedly.

It was bright out in spite of the dark sky. Harry would swear that there was nowhere on earth that the moon shone more strongly. It made wandering down to the grassy hill by the lake easy, and Harry couldn’t decide what he wanted to look at more – Draco, who was smiling easily for the first time in days, or the lake.

They didn’t bother messing about – they just picked a soft patch of grass and sat down, overlooking the lake with a sort of serenity they hadn’t felt since the picnic. “This was a good idea,” Draco hummed once they were settled, and he scooted down so that he could lay down without Harry having to turn his head to look him in the eye. His head was nestled somewhere by Harry’s hip, and Draco looked up at him and the sky with a small smile.

Harry couldn’t remember what they’d talked about last time they were here, and frankly he couldn’t even imagine working up an actual conversation with Draco positively glowing in the moonlight, his brow and shoulders relaxed. After a few moments of gentle breathing, Draco tipped his head to the side so that it pressed into Harry’s hip, and he would have stopped breathing if it weren’t for the fact that it would have drawn Draco’s attention to the way he couldn’t look away from him.

They didn’t end up talking at all, which was fine – Draco looked almost happy, and eventually did the exact thing Harry dragged him outside to avoid: he fell asleep, knocking his forehead against Harry’s leg with one finger instinctively fidgeting with a string by his kneecap. Curled up on his side, his wings were folded so nicely over his body that most of him was hidden from the moonlight. Still, his face was perfectly illuminated, and so beautiful Harry wondered why he’d never properly paid attention to it before that semester. Draco had always looked like this, really – not as shimmery, but just as pretty. Perhaps the difference was that now Harry knew that behind the pretty face, he was also witty and smart and kind and thoughtful and – he could go on all day. He sighed at the thought, still watching Draco’s face while he dozed.

He wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t thought Draco was properly asleep, but after a few minutes, or ten, or twenty, he shifted his weight to his left arm and lifted his right hand to gently brush a few strands of pale blonde hair out of Draco’s face. He didn’t think he could really be held responsible for the way his fingers lingered, carding through his hair for a moment longer.

He sighed eventually and pulled his hand away, but much to his surprise Draco frowned a little without opening his eyes. “Keep doin’ that,” he muttered. “Feels nice.”

He thought his heart might beat out of his chest. “Does it?”

“Mm-hmm. Veela are tactile with people they’re close to. It’s comforting. Don’t stop.” When Harry brought his hand back to Draco’s hair, he hummed. Merlin, Harry remembered the feeling of realization last time they were out by the lake, the way Draco’s smile had made his breath catch in his throat, his heart constrict in his chest like a vice. It was nothing compared to the way he felt right at that moment.

He knew he should, for his own sake, but he didn’t stop brushing his fingers through Draco’s hair. Draco didn't stop humming, and he didn't move away.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got a little out of hand, and I thought about splitting it in two, but I finished it today anyway so. Hurrah! Enjoy, everyone. Didn't even take another month to write.

“Remind me never to sleep on the ground again,” Draco groused the next morning, a hand massaging the pads of his fingers into his neck. “You wouldn’t believe how sore I am.” He had a bit of a crick in his own neck from looking down at Draco for the several hours they’d been out by the lake last night, but he didn’t say anything.

“You slept, though,” Harry pointed out, the words slurred around the edges with the faint remnants of his own sleep. “I mean, it might not have been a particularly good sleep but at least you got more than two hours.”

Draco frowned, but nodded along. “I needed them, yeah,” he agreed. “Still don’t feel properly rested, but it was better than I’ve gotten lately.” It showed, too – he was beginning to develop bags under his eyes that even veela shimmer couldn’t hide. He meandered over to their table, where breakfast was spread out in the free spots between their parchment and books.

They didn’t have anywhere to go that day, so Harry didn’t even bother climbing out of bed. He watched Draco make himself a plate of eggs and bacon – what would be his first place of three, knowing his appetite – from under his covers, casually resting. The one advantage to their situation was that Harry and Draco both got to have as many lie-ins as they wanted. No eight-in-the-morning classes to go to, no meetings before noon. It made up for the fact that they’d slept outside until four in the morning, only to come in and crawl into their own respective beds.

This was his favorite time of day – both of them were still sleepy and relaxed, and everything seemed calm. Draco’s allure tended to be a little strong in the mornings, but even that seemed to dull the harsh edge of waking. It didn’t help Harry’s apparent infatuation any, but that was okay.

“Do we have to go anywhere today?” Draco asked from the table, drawing Harry from his thoughts (and absentminded staring). Harry closed his eyes for a moment to center himself and pull out of the soft grip of the allure.

“No meetings,” he answered slowly. “But I wanted to stop by Gryffindor tower, to talk to the eighth years.”

Draco grimaced – whether at the thought of going out in public or going to Gryffindor tower, he didn’t know – but nodded. “Because you made promises on their behalf without asking?” he asked faux casually, and Harry narrowed his eyes at him. “Don’t look at me like that, Potter; you did do that.”

“Yes, well, I did it for a good reason and you know that, so I’d thank you not to get snarky with me,” he retorted with an eye roll, finally sitting up and sliding out of bed. He joined Draco at the table, patting one of his wings as he passed. Draco let his wing extend to swipe over Harry’s back in greeting. At least, Harry thought it was a greeting. Draco tended to not be fully aware of what his wings were doing sometimes and let instinct guide their movements.

Draco was methodically demolishing his bacon, and waited until it was gone before he replied. “So we go see the Gryffindors… and afterwards, we go flying for a bit, yeah?” He raised an eyebrow at Harry. “We do your thing, then we do my thing. It’s in the interests of fairness.”

Harry laughed, sitting down and dragging some of the bacon left onto his own plate. “You don’t have to talk me into it; I haven’t properly gone flying in months. What do you say we make everyone jealous of your wings and go outside, on the pitch?”

“There’ll be Quidditch practice,” Draco said, digging into a roll. He pointed it at Harry. “Imagine them trying to jump me, but in the air. How many players do you want to jump to their deaths trying to get to me? What with the sparkle and the wings and the devastating beauty, I mean.” He spread his arms to display himself, but the effect was rather ruined by the fact that his bare chest was not actually sparkling at the moment, glamoured from around nipple to collar. Frankly, the strip of plain skin and arms amidst the glowing of the rest of his skin was ridiculous looking, but Harry never said anything because Draco was so damn proud of how far he’d gotten it to go. 

It was Harry’s turn to grimace. “Of course you went there. Of _course_ you did. Look, whoever’s practicing tonight, they won’t be out until later tonight. We can go out in the afternoon, and there’ll only be a few older students with free periods wandering about. Probably not even that many, because it’s still pretty cool outside.” Draco rolled his eyes at Harry’s logic, but he didn’t offer a counterargument.

“So we go flying,” Draco agreed finally, in between bites of scrambled egg. “And we go see your Gryffindors so you can tell them how you signed them up for Slytherin babysitting duty, which they’re sure to love.”

“Well, I’m not going to phrase it like that,” Harry amended. “But that’s the general idea, yeah. Then we can squirrel away again and work on homework if you really want. I just think we both need to get out of here for a bit.”

“We were out of here last night,” Draco pointed out around a mouthful of eggs. “And you went out yesterday, and two days before that. You go out all the time – I’m the one that stays in… and yet you don’t see me complaining.” It was Harry’s turn to roll his eyes, taking a bite of his own food when he remembered to during pauses in the conversation.

“I’m just trying to look out for your best interests,” Harry sighed. “You know that and you’re being difficult for the fun of it.”

Draco grinned at him, all teeth. “You know me so well.”

That he did, Harry thought, and looked down to hide his own grin. They continued to eat for a while, chatting absently while they did so, until mail arrived in a neat pile on their table, right next to the nearly empty platter of bacon and sausage. Harry was at once nostalgic for the days of Hedwig bringing him mail in the Great Hall and grateful for the simple delivery. It tended to lessen the pangs of sadness that came when he saw one of the school owls delivering his mail.

He grabbed the letters before Draco did, flipping through them curiously. “This one’s from Goyle... that’ll be for you, then. And here’s a letter from your mum, as always. Shame she didn’t send you those chocolates she sent last time.” Harry handed them over and pulled out a few letters of his own, two from admirers and one from Ron, which he made a mental note to read later. At the bottom of the pile was another letter in the high-quality parchment that Mrs. Malfoy used. Draco’s name was written on the front in a simple but elegant hand.

“I think this is from your father,” Harry said, slightly surprised. He hadn’t seen a single letter from Malfoy Sr. in their mail pile for the two months they’d been living together.

Draco nodded and held out a hand. It seemed like a non-reaction, all things considered, but Harry handed it over without a word, content to go back to his scrambled eggs and finish off a link of sausage.

Instead of reading the letter, however, Draco plucked his wand off the table and did a couple complicated gestures. His trunk opened, revealing a smaller box full of letters on crisp cream parchment. The letter floated over to it and dropped inside. Both the box and his trunk shut, and Draco set his wand down and began eating again without any fanfare. “You’re not going to read it?” he asked, confused, and Draco took a pointed bite of his last piece of bacon. “Draco?”

“I don’t read my father’s letters.” Which was obvious enough, though Draco didn’t seem to care about his thoughts on the matter. In fact, with one hand he picked up the letter from his mother and attempted to finish reading it without any sort of explanation. It was odd, how quickly he’d seemed to shut the entire incident down.

“Are you not on speaking terms?” he asked hesitantly.

Draco shrugged casually enough, but there was something in his face that made Harry uncomfortable. “I haven’t spoken to him since summer. He sends me letters every now and again, but I don’t read them. I put them in a box – it’s either that or burn them.” He glanced over at Harry and frowned. “Don’t look at me like that. He’s my father, and I love him – but you can’t be surprised I’m having a hard time stomaching the thought of making nice with him after what I’ve seen him do. What he forced me into.”

Harry felt their good mood from earlier slip away, but didn’t try to fight it. “I get that, but… don’t you think reading his letters will help with that? Isn’t him reaching out a good thing?”

Draco looked down for a second, contemplating, and finally he set the letter from Narcissa down so that he could face Harry and give him his full attention. He even pushed his plate away so that he could cross his arms and rest them on the table. “Harry, I know you’ve mastered the ability to put aside the past to keep the peace, at least when it comes to me and my family, but I can’t do that. Not with my father. I’m still trying to figure out how to put together the father that loved me and the father that dragged by my arm to a meeting so that I could get the Dark Mark to save our entire family from being killed for his failure.”

Harry knew then that he’d done it, that finally they’d tripped over their history in a way that they couldn’t just right themselves and move on from – that Draco wouldn’t _let_ them move on from without talking about it. He wasn’t even surprised that it was Lucius Malfoy that did it, but he was taken aback by how matter-of-fact Draco’s tone was – how he wasn’t shying away from touching on this when he normally ran from the very idea of talking about his family’s death eater involvement with any depth.

He looked so calm on the surface, but there was something about his eyes – they were like concrete. Just a stone wall, where normally there was expressive grey. Instead of awkwardly trying to change the subject, or demanding that they do as Draco normally would, he kept eye contact with Harry, not letting him look away or back away. Harry rather thought it was punishment – _you started this, so you can listen._

“When I was growing up,” Draco said softly, slowly, as if he were trying to figure out the easiest way to say what he was trying to say, “my father was my hero. He was smart, and successful, and he never really brought up his involvement with the Dark Lord. When he did, he just fed me the same lie he fed everyone else, that he’d been Imperiused the entire time. And I knew that he agreed with the Death Eaters about things like blood purity, and he raised me to believe that, too, but he always said that he hadn’t been a part of the Dark Lord’s forces willingly.” He paused, looking unsure about how to continue.

“Because he knew you’d learn from the rest of the world that Death Eaters were evil?” Harry suggested, not wanting to interrupt but trying to help him gather his words.

Draco nodded. “That was part of it, I think. You also can’t trust a child not to go blabbing your secrets to people without realizing how serious they actually were.” He gave a half-hearted little snort. “But, the point is that I didn’t know. I didn’t know he was a part of it, and by the time I learned what Death Eaters were capable of I had convinced myself that he was above it, that _we_ were above it.”

“But he wasn’t.”

“No,” Draco agreed on a sigh. “He wasn’t. It would have been one thing if he hadn’t gone back, but when You-Know-Who returned, he _did_. He answered the call and brought us all into it knowing what they did. It wasn’t a political group to advance blood purity legislation – they were terrorists! And he knew it, and he went back to them anyway. Then, you know, I was still trying to convince myself my father was a good man, so I took comfort in the fact that he really didn’t get his hands dirty. His usefulness to the Dark Lord was through his political power, so he wasn’t involved in many raids or torture sessions, and I thought… he’s not a part of all that. He’s only doing what he does because he thinks it’s the best for our world.”

Harry wasn’t sure how to respond to that – especially because he personally couldn’t imagine justifying any elitist pureblood behavior like that. He could understand the logic of wanting to do what’s best, but knowing what Lucius thought was “best”… he picked at his scrambled eggs. His interest in eating had vanished since the beginning of the conversation.

His thoughts must have shown on his face, because Draco scowled at him. “I never said I still agree with those things, you berk. Stop looking at me like that. I’m just saying,” he continued, clearly moving on. “I’m just saying that I was trying to preserve the image I had of my father. And after a while, I couldn’t anymore, because it wasn’t just politics. It was… it was my own father, dragging me into a murder club that he knew I didn’t want to be a part of to save his skin.” He let out a huge breath. “Our skin. The family skin. Whatever. I know logically that You-Know-Who would have killed all of us to make up for Father’s failure, but it doesn’t help.”

“The problem’s that he wanted you to take the Mark even though he knew it wasn’t good for you. Or anyone,” Harry summarized, and Draco nodded.

“Right. And it’s because of him that I joined the Death Eaters. I’m not saying I’m not responsible for my actions, because if the war taught me anything it’s that I am,” he said, half-rushed, like he wanted to get that out before anyone could accuse him of trying to deflect blame. “But I was raised a certain way and there were other factors that led to me joining You-Know-Who. It wasn’t something I wanted to do – it was something my father wanted me to do, that since You-Know-Who returned he told me would bring glory on us, and that I eventually did because it was that or let my entire family be killed.” He shrugged, trying to make it more casual, to lessen the tension. “And it was things he did.”

“I thought you said he didn’t really do things like raids or torture,” Harry interrupted, confused.

Draco’s expression was some mixture of sadness and disgust. “You don’t have to kill people to go along with it. To be okay with it.” All of a sudden, Harry knew what Draco was saying, and he knew that there was really nothing that he could say to make any of it better. “I had to watch them torture people. Muggles, mainly. Muggleborns.” Harry noticed that he very clearly pronounced the word. _Not mudblood_. Alright, Harry thought. Noted. “And my Father was there. He didn’t take part very often, but when I was physically ill because of it, when I was sitting there in horror wanting to stop them from hurting people any more… my Father would just sit there, looking as though he was _bored_. Or, or resigned? As if he were used to it. And I could never get used to something like that, but he did.”

Draco’s hands, which had been clasped on the table, were trembling. Without speaking, Harry quietly got up and slipped around the table, pulling a chair over to sit at Draco’s side. He didn’t touch him, but he also wasn’t going to continue the conversation sitting across from Draco with breakfast spread out between them, like this was a casual conversation. Like Draco wasn’t telling something deeply personal that had left scars.

“I can’t justify that,” Draco said after a long silence of him trying to pull himself together. His hands still shook, but he didn’t pull away from Harry even if his wings were still drawn in tight and defensive, visible tells of how upset he was. “Even when it was people we knew – when it was Professor Burbage there, when they killed her – he just looked like he didn’t even care. He worked with her for years, on the Hogwarts board, and yet he still just sat there and watched. It made me _ill_ , for days. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat… I didn’t even like her, but I knew her. It wasn’t better or worse than watching muggles and muggleborns be tortured – it was all awful – but it was different. It really hit home, about my father. About what he’s like.”

Harry was slowly coming to the realization that this wasn’t just conflict for Draco. This was _grief_. This was Draco mourning the father that he’d known his whole life, who he trusted to do the right thing and be his hero. Now, he was disillusioned and trying to figure out how to reconcile his childhood hero with the man he turned out to be.

“I can’t forgive him,” Draco murmured when Harry stayed silent. “But I need to figure out how to accept what he’s done, because family is important to all of us. There’s only three of us left and so much of what we did in the war was to protect one another. Now it’s a matter of figuring out how to live with ourselves and each other.”

“And not reading his letters…” Harry prompted.

“Helps,” Draco answered with a snort. “Reading about how angry he is about his house arrest, or how entitled the ministry officers that handle his check-ins are isn’t going to help. So yeah, I don’t read his letters. I will, eventually, but not yet.”  

Harry sat there for a long moment trying to gather his thoughts. “I’m sorry for not just letting it go.” Except that he wasn’t really, because it looked like Draco had really needed the chance to vent about it. He knew he couldn’t really understand what he was going through, not the way some the other Slytherins might be able to, but Draco looked grateful for his support, and that was all that mattered.

“Thank you,” Draco said quietly. He didn’t look quite as haunted as Harry would expect but there was something very old in his grey eyes when they met his own. Very old, and very tired, and _very_ sad.

“You’re a good man, Draco Malfoy. Your dad isn’t, but you are,” Harry told him, and he didn’t dress it up. He didn’t say anything else. He just sat down next to Draco, ignoring his plate and letters across the table, and put a hand on his knee lightly. It felt almost too intimate, and he knew it wasn’t a friendly sort of touch, but Draco just grabbed his hand and held on while he pulled himself back out of the dark place he’d gone to.

 

They didn’t talk much after that, but they did work side by side for the next few hours, writing and in Draco’s case, planning out instructions for his potions project. He had summoned a small table to work on the actual potion ages ago, and had actually ruined the wallpaper against the wall with potions fumes working on it. He actually had a few vials of the stuff sitting on it – no guarantee that they’d actually do anything, but they hadn’t blown up, which both Harry and Draco agreed was a mild success.

He knew that Draco wasn’t a fragile flower, but after what had happened at breakfast, he was hesitant to drag him out into hordes of people. Draco was also getting visibly restless, however, and his wings kept flexing every few minutes.

“You want to go out flying now?” he offered, as lightly as he could. “You’re pretty much done with that step list, and my Defense essay is done. It’d be a good time to go out. Lunch is in an hour, so almost everyone is in class. We can get a picnic and fly until one or so. The eighth years don’t have classes then on Tuesdays, remember? So we can go to the Tower afterwards.”

Instead of arguing, which Harry had fully expected he would do just to get out if it, Draco nodded. “I need something fun, I think,” he sighed, and while he didn’t exactly look like he was going to _enjoy_ their “something fun,” he was agreeing to do it, which Harry knew was half the battle. “And I don’t want to admit it, but I’ve had enough of sitting around here with only you for company.”

Harry laughed, surprised, at his grimace. “What? Am I not good enough for you anymore?”

He managed to startle Draco into a small laugh as well. “You know, a couple months ago and spending all day with you would have been a nightmare. Now, that’s the okay bit – it’s just hard being isolated all the time. Even when Pansy was here I was out of my mind because you were gone, so I couldn’t enjoy it.”

“Well,” Harry said with a smile. “Let’s go un-isolate you.” Draco rolled his eyes but obediently stood up, going to magic on a shirt and sweater. Harry did the same, sans magic, and strapped his wrist holster to his arm as well for good measure, grabbing his wand off his bedside table and securing it against his forearm. “It’ll be fun to show everyone what those huge things on your back can do,” he added teasingly once he grabbed his broom from where it had been leaning against the wall.

Draco was still chuckling when they left the room, but as they made their way out into a busier hall, he got a little more withdrawn, uncomfortable with the attention in a new way. Harry didn’t think anyone mentioned what happened at the picnic, but to Draco, he wasn’t surprised that Draco, who tended to be paranoid in general, was seeing their attention as fear or judgement rather than the mindless, allure-driven adoration it really was.

Harry hurried them out of the castle, because the way he saw it, the sooner they could get in the air, the sooner Draco would be distracted from his bad mood would be able to actually enjoy himself for a little while.

He’d been so reserved and sullen lately, but the moment Harry got them out into the sunlight, he knew that he’d made the right choice in getting them outside. The moonlight was great, but there was something about being out in the sun that really made everything seem better for a while. The picnic had been nice, but this would be even nicer; a chance to distract Draco from his father and his veela problems and give him a way to release all the pent up energy that had his wings twitching all the time.

They walked down to the pitch, chatting absently, but by the time they reached the edge of the grassy expanse of the field Draco was grinning wildly.

“Try to catch up?” he said, interrupting Harry and distracting him from whatever he’d been saying about Quidditch.

“Try and – wait a minute, you prick!” he exclaimed, laughing loudly when Draco’s wings unfurled and practically _launched_ him into the air. He didn’t dare be so boisterous with his flying in the Room of Requirement, still unsure of the limits of the space, but out here he could practically fly up into space if he wanted to.

Harry couldn’t even be grumpy at him over it – he could only bite down a huge grin and leap onto his broom, shooting into the air after him.

He wasn’t going to say that being Draco’s bodyguard, for lack of a better term, was a bad thing, but he had really missed the freedom to come out and fly for as long as he wanted. As he dipped and dove and soared into the clouds, he realized just how much. It wasn’t even that the flight itself was that nice; it was windy as hell, which made it harder to stay in control of his broom, and being barely April, it was on the chilly side. The wind didn’t help, and flying around tended to make him colder. Even Draco was shivering a little when they finally got done racing to warm up, regardless of the fact that for him, flying was actually exercise and should have warmed him up. Harry renewed the warming charm on himself, and cast one on Draco as well, who hummed thankfully.

“This is the best,” he panted, his wings keeping him in the air but not enough to move him from the general area. “You forget what flying in real weather is like. It’s exhilarating.”

Harry, gripping his broom for dear life and breathing harder himself from the adrenaline, nodded. “Feeling better, then?” he asked, watching Draco grin up at the blue sky. “Less isolated?”

“Feeling better,” he confirmed, and turned his charming grin on Harry. It softened, no less bright but warmer somehow. His hair swirled around his head in the wind, a halo of blonde almost-curls, now that it was down and growing out.

He wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t still the adrenaline, but his heart beat twice as hard in his chest. “This is the one thing we could always agree on,” he said instead of commenting on how beautiful Draco looked in the sunlight. His skin glistened, the veela sheen obvious but not overwhelming, and his eyes were so wide and happy. It wasn’t just the sun, he admitted to himself. It was just Draco, smiling, that did him in. “Flying,” he added after Draco had raised an eyebrow at his absent silence. “Flying, I mean. We both always loved flying. Fought like hell during Quidditch games but we both enjoyed it more than anything else.”

“Imagine if we’d managed to bond over that back in the day,” Draco commented, a little wistfully. Slowly, he descended. They had been flying above the Ravenclaw stands, and Harry followed him down so that they could sit and get their breath back to chat.

“I dunno, I think we’ve managed to make things okay enough between us anyway.”

“Okay _enough_ ,” Draco repeated, mock outraged. “I’m your best friend in the world, and you know it, Potter.” He leaned back, his arms resting on the benches behind them. It created an artful lounging position that had Harry admiring the curve of his torso and back without quite agreeing with his eyes to do so. “We have, though. Worked things out.”

“Surprisingly well,” Harry agreed, settling next to him and trying to keep his eyes off of Draco’s body. He was usually drawn in by less shallow things – his eyes, the way he smiled – but he couldn’t help but be vulnerable when Draco was all spread out like a model, as if he didn’t realize that Harry was as susceptible to him as anyone else.

He just hid it better.

“I think about that sometimes,” Draco mused, looking out at the grounds from their perch. Distantly, little dots of students meandered. “How well we get on now. I’m glad for it, but it seems so unreal sometimes.”

“Because you always hated me so much?”

Draco shrugged, his pink mouth spreading in a mischievous grin. “You have to admit, it’s quite the turn of pace. But, no, not entirely. When I was really little – you know, when my father was still letting me live under the illusion that we were good people and on the side of the light – I had always had this stupid daydream of going to school and becoming friends with the famous Harry Potter. Father wanted me to, actually. He thought it would be a good status symbol. I just wanted to go on adventures and be the cool best friend of the Boy Who Lived.”

“Is it living up to expectations?” he asked, curious. He felt like he should be offended, or worried about Draco’s intentions, but after everything they’d gone through there was none of that suspicion left.

Draco just confirmed his thoughts and leaned his head back, eyes closing, to soak in the sun. “Nah,” he drawled. “You’re a bit drab and I’m done with adventures for now. I just think sometimes that it would have been different if we had become friends sooner.”

“Oh, I’m drab, am I? Thanks,” he chuckled, and Draco snickered with him. “It’s for the best though, I think. That things worked out this way.” The chuckles slowly stopped for both of them as Harry spoke. “Because if we’d worked things out sooner, you would have had to turn your back on your family, or else turn me in the Dark Lord, or some other nasty thing. It just would have been a lot more complicated. This way, we can be friends, and Voldemort is gone, and your family is still alive and they love you. So many bad things happened, but I think our friendship is a good thing that came out of this mess.”

“To be fair, our friendship is a direct result of my veela inheritance, not the war,” Draco pointed out, but he looked so peaceful that Harry knew he understood Harry’s point.

They sunbathed for a little while longer, until Draco sat up properly again and stretched his wings.

“Up for a bit more air time, Potter? We’ve still got an hour or so to kill before the one-o’clock break.” He bounded onto his feet, spinning to smirk down at Harry. “If you get up in the air fast enough, you might even win our next race.”

They flew for another hour, ignoring the pressing weight of family ties or the Slytherin harassment – just two friends enjoying themselves while they could.

They had a small group of observers by the time Draco swooped down to the ground for a messy landing, only narrowly managing to avoid crashing onto his face and breaking a wing in the process. He stumbled forward a few feet with the momentum, and dealt with Harry laughing at him as he descended himself with surprising grace.

“Nice landing, Malfoy,” one of the observers sneered. He was a younger Ravenclaw, and looked as though he were half-way veelastruck but trying to keep the hostility for appearances. Terry Boot smacked him upside the head.

“Nice _flying_ , Malfoy,” he called. “Imagine not having to spend money on a nice broom to fly that well!” He looked positively awestruck.

“He nearly fell on his face,” the Ravenclaw groused, and Terry rolled his eyes.

“In my defense,” Draco said, casually, “I’ve seen this one literally roll off his broom and swallow the snitch, so forgive me for thinking my landing could have been worse.” He pointed his thumb at Harry with a what-can-you-do expression. Harry pulled the most embarrassed face he could while wanting to laugh.

“He’s not wrong,” he said apologetically to the younger Ravenclaw.

“Well, I think you both flew very well,” Luna said, beaming. He hadn’t even noticed her from the other side of the group, away from her bickering housemates.

“Thanks, Luna!” Harry said, clapping Draco on the shoulder as he came forward from where he’d landed. When Draco stayed silent, Harry elbowed him.

“Ow – thanks, Lovegood,” he said grumpily, but it was too lighthearted to be legitimate. “You, too, Boot.” Terry smiled widely at him, eyes a little glazed. Harry couldn’t blame Terry though; Draco really was a sight to behold, especially when he was as radiantly happy as he tended to be in the air. “Speaking of,” Draco said, lighting up. “Boot! Come here for a second, would you? Potter has something he wanted to discuss with the eighth years.”

Harry glared at him, but it wasn’t as if he _hadn’t_ been planning to do this. Terry came forward, looking a little more enamored with each step he took. Draco stepped back and behind Harry ever so slightly, as if to put Harry in the forefront. Harry knew that he was mostly just trying to put Harry between him and someone who clearly didn’t have Harry’s resistance to the allure, but Harry didn’t call him on it.

The broken line of sight made Terry pause, reorient, and then wince a little. He stepped back, and then made eye contact with Harry and stepped back again, his wince more pronounced. Clearly, he remembered what happened last time someone got too close to Harry, and it made _him_ want to wince at the memory of it. Harry’s fingers curled to brush against his wand where it was hidden in the wrist holster.

“What’s going on?” Terry asked him, and Harry explained quietly, only too aware of the group of people still watching Draco avidly. Barring Luna, of course, who appeared to be experimenting with how successfully she could distract other students from watching the veela do nothing more than stand. It had made sense for them to watch him fly – he was an absolute vision in the air, after all – but now that he was just standing around, it seemed less logical and more weird.

“You’re right,” Terry sighed when Harry finished explaining. “It’s not fair, the way things have been going on, and this is an easy way to help without taking sides.” He didn’t look like he liked the idea any, but he was agreeing and that was what was important. “You can count me in, and I’ll let the other sixth and seventh year Ravenclaws in on it too. Most of us have been staying out of it, cause it’s not our fight, but if there’s actually been physical violence going on, I can’t justify keeping out of it.”

“I’m not asking you to play the hero,” Harry reassured him, trying to distract _himself_ from Draco, who was standing so close behind him it was like _he_ was the one playing bodyguard. “Just let them walk next to you if they don’t feel safe. It goes a long way.” Even the older Slytherins were making a point of going out in pairs, especially if they had friends in other houses. Not many of them did, but the fact was going out alone (or for the younger students, in small groups by themselves) wasn’t a good idea.

He and Terry chatted a little longer, but Harry knew that him being out meant that the eighth-year break had begun and he’d planned the entire excursion so that he could talk to Hermione and the other Gryffindor eighth years. He said his goodbyes to both Terry and Luna, then led Draco away. He saw that Luna, whose experiment was now over, wandered in the direction of Hagrid’s hut. He didn’t even want to think about what strange creatures she had it in her mind to ask him about.

Draco’s good mood lasted their entire walk up to Gryffindor Tower, though he did snap at someone who spat at them in the hall and had to be dragged away. Instead of commenting on the way his feathers had started to scale, or his eyes flashed silver in anger, he just called the offending Hufflepuff (one of Cuthbert’s friends, Harry recognized) a little git and moved on without Harry having to go out of his way to distract him.

Harry got an awestruck first year to let them into the common room, since he didn’t have the newest password, and when he walked in Hermione was thankfully right there in front of the fire. None of the other eighth years were there, and the Gryffindor commons was otherwise empty except for a couple quiet seventh year girls on the other side of the room.

“Harry!” she exclaimed when she saw him, her face lighting up. She was knitting again, a half-finished scarf spread out over her lap. She was definitely getting better, and Harry wondered for half a second if she was going to become Mrs. Weasley part two. She already had the Mr. Weasley, after all. “And Malfoy,” she added when Draco walked in after him. Her smile didn’t falter, even though Harry knew she didn’t like him bringing Draco into the Gryffindor commons. “What’s the occasion?”

“A few things,” he said truthfully. “Mostly I just missed you.” He added the statement with a winning smile, coming forward to kiss her on the cheek before dropping next to her on the sofa. The rest of the common room was empty, so Draco didn’t hesitate before coming forward and claiming a cushy armchair to their right.

She accepted the kiss with grace but looked mostly unimpressed. “Alright, then, if you’re going to be a _liar_ …” She chuckled when he rolled his eyes. “Seriously, what’s going on? If you brought Malfoy it was for a reason, I’m sure.”

“Well…” He ran Hermione through what had happened with the Slytherin girl, Amelie, and what she claimed Nott had told the younger Slytherin students. “I’ve already talked to Terry, and he agreed, but I was hoping you could help me spread it around to anyone who would help.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “It’s a good idea,” she acknowledged. “And the fact that it came from Edward Nott means that the Slytherins might actually go for it.”

“It’s less embarrassing than actively asking for people to help, and it’s not like it requires any big statement,” Draco interceded. “Pansy’s already agreed to help spread it around to the rest of the house.”

“It’s easy on the ego,” Hermione summarized with an eye roll, and Draco managed a small smile. “Well, you don’t have to convince me. I’ve been trying to work something like this out all year, but the Slytherins tend to not react well when I get involved. I’ll spread the word.”

“Thank you,” Draco said before Harry could. “I appreciate it, on behalf of my house.” His fingers tapped against his knee. “Granger, you are one of very few people who actively stood up for us. It means a lot.”

She looked at him for a moment, honestly surprised, before her expression softened. “You don’t have to thank me for that, Malfoy. It’s only what’s right.”

He shrugged. “Well, it’s still something most of the others aren’t doing. If they’re not harassing us, they don’t think it’s their problem.” When Harry stiffened, he sighed. “I’m not mad about it; it’s not like many of us haven’t done our own shit – but the younger students don’t deserve it. So, when I say thank you – just accept it.”

She nodded, conceding the point. “I’m happy to do it.” The left it at that, and Hermione turned back to Harry. “What else did you come for?”

Harry’s eyes slid to Draco and back again. He hadn’t exactly discussed this with Draco, but… “He hasn’t been well, lately,” Harry told her, just throwing it out there, heedless of Draco’s inevitable reaction.

As if on cue, Draco made an offended sound. “Wait, me? You’re here to talk about me?”

Harry looked at Hermione desperately. “Me and Pansy were talking yesterday, and she pointed out that Draco’s behavior is weird. As in, more than veela weird.” Draco’s objections got louder. Harry glanced back at him with an apologetic expression. “You can’t deny that something’s wrong. You can’t handle it when I leave without you, and your reaction to what happened with Dean was way over the top. Not to mention that you haven’t been sleeping.”

“What do you mean, he can’t handle it when you leave?” Hermione asked, brows furrowing. She set her knitting aside, finally giving it up as a bad job. Her needles had been still in her lap for minutes anyway.

“I have mild anxiety about his safety,” Draco told her, face twisted. He didn’t look mad, per se, but he wasn’t happy. Harry went immediately to his Malfoy-Mood-Ring – his wings, which were raised in agitation.

“Understatement of the year,” Harry added, glaring at Draco when he huffed. “He goes out of his mind. He gets antsy and he can’t stop thinking about me –“

“- way to phrase that in the _worst possible way_ , Potter –“

“- and when I came back from my meetings with Slughorn and Goobily yesterday, he practically assaulted me the second I got back. He jumped over the back of the sofa to get to me! Allure out, talons out, the full go.” Hermione’s eyebrows were doing something very complicated, matched by her pursed mouth. Frankly, she looked a little bit like McGonagall. He made a mental note never to mention that to her.

“It wasn’t that big of a deal,” Draco told Hermione. “And yeah, I haven’t been sleeping well, but I have been _sleeping_. We take naps on the couch all the time! And last night Harry and I both fell asleep outside.”

“And then we came in to get proper sleep, and you tossed and turned until morning.”

“As… informative… as your bickering is, I’m going to need the two of you to calm down,” Hermione said, looking as though she was developing a headache. “Malfoy. Do you have this reaction with Pansy, or Blaise? The anxiety, I mean.”

He shook his head. “I don’t see them enough for any kind of reaction like that, I don’t think. My veela instincts are attached to Harry because he’s the only one I see on a regular basis, and frankly it’s only because of what happened with Thomas that this is out of control. The veela brain is just worried about his safety, that’s all.” He brought his wings back in, trying to cool down.

“And I would believe that if you hadn’t begged me not to leave again,” Harry retorted. “I know you can’t control it, and I’m not mad about it, but there’s something wrong. If it’s some kind of veela anxiety, then we need to figure out what exactly is triggering it and how to fix it. I only brought it up to help you, so don’t be a prick about this.”

They traded a very intense few moments of eye contact, in which Draco glared and pleaded and finally angrily gave in and Harry wondered when he’d gotten so good at reading him.

“I’ll look into it,” Hermione said, breaking their eye-argument. “You’re right that this doesn’t seem like something we can just brush off, especially if _you_ , Malfoy, are supposed to be learning control.”

“Thank you,” Harry said on an exhale. “You’re better with research than I am, and Draco over here doesn’t seem to think it’s a big enough deal to warrant looking into, so I came to you. I know your classes take priority, but any help would be great.”

Hermione smiled, looking utterly done with him and fond of him at the same time. “Don’t I always make time to help you when you need it? Honestly.” She patted his knee and he grabbed her hand, squeezing it in thanks.

Draco, naturally, ruined the moment. “As touching as this is, I hate you both and want to go back to my room now if it’s all the same.” Hermione stiffened at the sound of his drawling monotone, but Harry had to suppress a smirk. If he was going to be a snarky git, he couldn’t be _that_ upset with Harry.

“I hate you, too, mate,” Harry said cheekily, grinning when Draco rolled his eyes, cheeks pink. “He knows I don’t mean it,” he mock whispered to Hermione, who looked entirely too amused.

“I’m sure he does,” she agreed, picking up her knitting again. “And I’m not going to say anything because I don’t think we’re _there_ yet.” She looked down to casually begin working on the scarf again, but the image cracked when she looked up and grinned at Draco’s gobsmacked expression from under her eyelashes.

“A Gryffindor with a sense of humor,” Draco marveled. “Incredible. How long has this been going on?”

“I’ve been funny the entire time,” Harry told him solemnly, and slapped his palms over his knees before standing up. “You wanted to head back?”

“Yes please,” Draco breathed, standing as well. Before he strutted off, however, he paused. “Thank you for helping us, Granger. The veela stuff and not. You don’t have to.”

She glanced up at him and after a moment, just nodded. “Don’t mention it. The right thing to do, remember?”

He grimaced. “Gryffindors.”

“Gryffindors,” she agreed with a smile. That done, Draco nodded curtly and strode off toward the portrait, leaving Harry to chase after him.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am trying so hard to keep to a regular posting schedule without posting absolute shit, so if you find a typo or something that seems a little off, please feel free to point it out to me. This is entirely unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own. Anyway... the boys are finally getting there! It's starting to look like this fic is going to be well over 100k if I do this thing properly, so we're not really that close to done, but hopefully it's not wearing on anybody.

Over the course of the next week, Draco’s sleeping issues got worse. It had been going on three weeks since he’d first mentioned not sleeping well, and getting two or three hours a night turned into no sleep at all. He was snappish and angry, and the minimal magic he had reason to do while sequestered away in their rooms was coming out weak in response. While his magic suffered, his allure and veela traits were on show nearly constantly – the allure especially was thick from the moment he woke to the moment he went to bed. He could draw it in to more reasonable levels, and did whenever he thought about it, but with how tired he was he was forgetting more and more. Harry hated watching him suffer, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it except coax him over to the couch for a nap. He’d wake up several hours later, less fidgety but no less exhausted.

“I’d say I’m surprised,” Pansy told him with a raised eyebrow when they met up early into the second week of April, staring pointedly at Draco’s sleeping form next to him on the grass. She was leaning back, propped up by an arm, lounging in the sun. Next to her, Blaise Zabini was laying on his stomach, propped up on his elbows as he skimmed a book he’d brought with him. “But based on what you’ve just told me, I can’t be.” She met Harry’s eyes, almost in awe. “He was fully awake and growling at the Creevy kid not even five minutes ago.”

That hadn’t been Draco’s best moment. Apparently, even casual touching fell under Draco’s possessiveness issues now – Dennis had only come up to say hello and shake his hand (as he did nearly every time he saw Harry and had done since Harry had, overwhelmed with a strange sort of guilt and sadness over his brother’s death, personally gone to invite him to come back to Hogwarts). Dennis had glanced at Draco, begun smiling dreamily even with his hand still shaking Harry’s, and then in a surprising show of restraint saw Draco’s flashing eyes and curled upper lip, pushed away the allure, and ripped his hand away from Harry’s so fast Harry thought he might hurt himself.

When Draco’s wings still rose offensively, his growling getting louder, Dennis turned tail and sprinted away. Considering that Draco had simply cut off the growl, yawned, and laid down to take a nap next to Harry, he was willing to accept that Draco’s exhaustion was taking a toll on his ability to reign in his instincts, but it didn’t make anything better.

It had been Draco’s idea for them all to come out – himself and Harry, as well as Pansy and Blaise. Harry didn’t know Blaise very well, but he was polite enough and had a dry sort of humor, so Harry was reserving judgement until he could get to know him better. They got along well enough, but Harry still wanted to slap Draco a little for making plans and sleeping through them, leaving Harry alone with _Draco_ ’s best friends.

“He was kind of like an angry barn owl,” Blaise added, still watching Draco with something close to alarm on his face. “Did you see how his wings went up at the end?” Pansy nodded, looking more concerned but still vaguely amused by the whole thing.

“It was truly something,” Pansy agreed. Then, casually, “So what are you going to do about it, Potter?”

Harry started, looking from Draco’s sleeping face to her so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. “ _Me_?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, _you_. Who did you think? I told you something was off about him last week, and I didn’t even know about his sleeping problems then. This isn’t normal, Potter, and you’re the one in charge of his well-being now, aren’t you?”

His first reaction was to snap at her, but she was right – she _had_ pointed it out, and he’d be just as irate if it were Ron or Hermione in this position. Hell, he’d probably had already gotten in the middle of it and tried to fix things himself.

“I’ve talked to Hermione,” Harry told her once he’d talked himself back from getting angry at her. “And I’ve been doing some reading on my own, too. There’s not a lot about veela illnesses, or instinct problems, so I haven’t really found anything useful, especially since all the books say to just _accept yourself_ , as if impulsively attacking people who touch me is something Draco can just accept.” He sighed, letting a hand fall down to pet at Draco’s hair.

Blaise and Pansy both watched the motion. Pansy’s eyebrows raised almost hilariously until they disappeared underneath her bangs, and Blaise looked almost as if he were about to laugh. “We’re not saying it’s your fault, Potter,” Blaise told him drolly, bored by the whole thing. “We’re just saying you two are basically an old married couple, so Draco’s behavior is on your head now.”

Even Harry had to chuckle at that one. “You try being locked up with someone for two months and see how you take to it. If we weren’t an old married couple by now one of us would have killed the other, so I’m not even going to argue. Just don’t let Draco hear you saying it; he’d have a fit.”

Blaise rolled his eyes. “Draco isn’t one to talk; even Thomas can tell he acts like your boyfriend and _he_ normally can’t see three feet past Finnigan’s arse. What was it he called you? Draco’s bitch?”

Harry sputtered, but Pansy just laughed. “Can’t say Thomas didn’t have a point. When Draco wasn’t glued to your side, he was glaring at anyone took your attention away from him too long, and you couldn’t get back to him fast enough. Not to mention the possessiveness, Merlin. I wanted to place bets about whether you were fucking, but I knew Draco would kill me for it, prank or no.” Harry grimaced at her crassness, but it just made her snicker. “Wouldn’t surprise me if this was some weird veela courting behavior, honestly.”

Blaise had begun to laugh, but by the time Pansy finished speaking, his green-brown eyes went very wide. He looked from Draco to Pansy until her laughter cut off too. They stared at each other for a long minute.

Nearly making him jump, Pansy turned to Harry, her expression incredulous. “Are you two shagging?” His cheeks turned red so quickly he could practically feel the heat. He opened his mouth to protest, but Pansy cut him off. “Don’t even think about lying to me, Potter, and don’t say it’s none of my business because Draco is one hundred per _cent_ my business. Have you been taking advantage of his veela thing?”

She glared at him so fiercely he couldn’t do more than sputter for a second. Finally, he pushed the words out. “ _No_ , Pansy! Merlin!” He lifted his hand from Draco’s hair, suddenly self-conscious. “Why would you even ask me that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she laughed half-hysterically. “Maybe it’s because it’s the only thing that makes _sense_? Veela have mates and our resident veela has been acting like the world’s most jealous boyfriend for a fortnight!” Pansy told him as if it should be obvious. “Not to mention his sleeping pattern.”

“What about it?” he asked defensively. “I don’t have anything to do with that!”

Pansy looked at him like he was the stupidest man she’d ever met. He was starting to feel like he was. “How about the fact that the only time it seems he can sleep lately is when he’s sleeping next to you? Isn’t that what you’ve told me? He takes naps with you on the couch, or outside, and when you get up to do something he wakes up and can’t get back to sleep on his own.” Harry paled. That _did_ actually seem to be a fair assessment of the situation. Why hadn’t he realized the connection sooner? He looked down at Draco’s sleeping face, at the way that he was dozing with his nose and forehead pressed against Harry’s hip. She pursed her lips at him when she saw the dawning realization on his face. “I know we’ve called you stupid for years, but I know you can’t actually be _that_ much of a moron. How did you not put that together?”

“It really is just you he’s like that with,” Blaise added thoughtfully. “He’s been friends with Pansy and I long enough to consider us part of his veela family or whatever it’s called, but he only gets uppity if someone’s getting nasty to us as we walk by. You, though? He won’t even let people _touch_ you without going off the deep end.”

“He’s right; I was just thinking about that myself,” Pansy said, seeing the cogs in Harry’s brain turn. “Look, just be honest – everything Draco’s told me, or that I’ve read lately, says that potential mates are chosen by compatibility on all levels. You have to be interested for it to take. So, tell me. Are you?”

There was a pause. “Interested?” he asked for clarification weakly, and Pansy’s eyes widened.

“You _are_ ,” she said, amazed. “I can’t say I didn’t see it coming, what with the way you two are, but… no, I didn’t think it would ever happen. Merlin.”

Blaise sat up, book forgotten. He looked genuinely shocked. “All those times I gave Draco shit about having a crush on Potter and now I find out it might actually happen? I might vom.”

“Not on me, you tosser,” Pansy sneered, leaning away, and Blaise rolled his eyes. She scooted a foot away dramatically before turning back to Harry. “Anyway. I’m not guaranteeing that’s what’s going on with Draco, but now we know to look into it. When are you going to talk to Granger about the new exciting direction your research should go in?”

“I’m still not convinced you’re right,” Harry told her, only half believing himself. “But I figured we could go see her tomorrow, if Draco feels up to it.”

“Well, Potter, you’d better hope he does, because this is not a problem that’s going to go away on its own,” she said, making a face that clearly told him she had more to say but wasn’t going to say it. That, unsurprisingly, didn’t make Harry feel any better about the situation. “This could either turn out great for you, considering your big crush on him, or very, very badly.”

Harry was distracted for the rest of the time they were outside, and by the time Pansy dismissed him with an irritated wave of her hand, he was itching to get his hands on the book Mrs. Malfoy had given Draco about veela. It had been a good source, but Harry had only skimmed the mating section, and Pansy and Blaise were starting to make him think that had been a mistake.

Draco was grumpy about being woken up from his nap and when they got back to their rooms he went to lounge in front of the fire and ignore Harry. Normally, Harry would try to draw him out of his shell; his irritability was largely because of how tired he was. That night, however, it suited Harry just fine as he’d curled up in bed with the book for the rest of the night anyway. He ignored his homework and dinner to read, heart thudding in his ears when Draco’s behavior matched more closely with the book’s description of budding mate bonds than he was comfortable with.

Possessiveness, even to the point of curbing casual touches to his intended? Check.

Increased separation anxiety? Check.

Overly strong allure? Harry thought back to how thick it had been in the last couple days – really, it had been getting steadily stronger since the picnic. He didn’t know what that day had been a trigger for all of this, but _something_ clearly had.

Difficulty sleeping away from his intended? _Check_. Apparently, it was supposed to draw them together. In reality, it only seemed to be worsening everything else.

When he’d gleaned all he could from the chapter on mating behaviors, he set the book aside. He glanced at Draco from his bed, watching him glare at his parchment over by the fire, in his favorite armchair. His eyelids were drooping even as he tried half-assedly to translate his Runes homework.

Knowing he could be the cause of Draco’s unhappiness put a pit in his stomach. He really needed to talk to Hermione.

 

The next day, Harry waited until Draco was awake from his morning nap, hesitant to move lest going too far away caused him to wake up, to suggest going back to the Tower to talk to Hermione. Harry had woken up early himself to find Draco sitting unhappily on the couch with bags under his eyes, looking into a fire he’d relit at some point during the night. Harry had knowingly gone to sit with him out of solidarity, Pansy’s theory a ringing reminder in his head, and struggled with the implications when Draco fell asleep within three minutes of laying down with his feet in Harry’s lap.

“Do we have to go now?” he asked groggily, and when Harry shook his head – she wouldn’t get out of classes until six – he shrugged. He slid off the couch, almost rolling onto the floor, and finally got up to go get breakfast. It had been sitting, under heating charms, for an hour. “We have to go out to brew for Slughorn today anyway,” Draco reasoned, mechanically going through the routine of filling a plate at the table. The pile of scrambled eggs was getting dangerously high by the time Draco sat down to actually eat it. “Might as well top off the nightmare with the Gryffindor den.”

They worked on various assignments until noon, when Slughorn had an hour’s respite between classes. They’d arranged to work in his classroom while he ate lunch there to supervise their work, and when they walked in they found him happily eating what looked like a roast beef sandwich.

“Come in, my boys,” he called. Harry would never get over how friendly Slughorn always was, especially with Harry. He’d been quite disappointed when Harry had failed to continue being a potions genius after he lost Snape’s book, but he’d bounced back within a month or so of their eighth year. Better to have a famous non-genius in his club than nothing. “I’ve got everything set up for you, Harry – you’ll just have to gather ingredients from the cupboard.”

Harry led Draco down the center aisle to the table near the front. It had a cauldron already in place and was otherwise cleared for their deskwork. Excellent.

“This is normally a two-person brew, so I thought I’d work with him. If that’s okay with you, Professor,” Draco said, off-hand and relaxed. Draco had worked out a submissive, solemn persona around the professors in general that kept him out of trouble and more or less got them on his side, but Harry had noticed long ago that Draco was far more casual with Slughorn. Part of it was probably that he was Draco’s head of house, one of the Slytherins, but Harry also knew that Draco respected Slughorn more than he let on.

To be honest, even _he_ found himself much more fond of Slughorn after the war. Beforehand, he’d liked him but rather thought he was an old pushover who took advantage of those around him with influence. Those things weren’t necessarily untrue, but Slughorn was also a man who had stuck around during the year Voldemort was in charge of Hogwarts. He’d protected students to the best of his ability and during the final battle he’d even gone up against Voldemort himself alongside Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout. He was many things, but at the end of the day a good man who had stood up for what was right.

Oblivious of Harry’s musing, Slughorn chatted with Draco, agreeing to have him work with Harry and discussing Draco’s term project briefly before they began.

“I’m thinking it’s a salve,” Draco told him dutifully, handing over three vials of the potion he’d been working on. “A little outside the box for this assignment, but it should apply as a sort of numbing agent.”

“Like topical anesthetic,” Harry said, perking up in interest. He’d done quite a bit of preliminary research when he’d decided to become a healer, and there weren’t any magical equivalents to topical anesthetic, which seemed like something that could be very useful when full anesthetic potions weren’t necessary.

Draco nodded. “Should work better, considering that it’s magic and not muggle junk,” he said with a slight tease to his voice. “But the same concept.

Slughorn took the vials, examining the contents. “I think we can make an exception for a salve in this case, Mr. Malfoy, if this works as intended. I agree that there could be many uses for it…” He walked off, uncorking one of the vials and smelling it. “It’s very rare these projects yield anything that’s actually useful or new… I hope this works the way it should.” He flashed Draco a smile. “While I play around with this, you and Mr. Potter can get started on his brewing assignment. Good job, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco bit down a smile, but it was clear he was proud of himself and Harry couldn’t keep a smile off his own face at the sight.

They started working, without much talking at first. About half an hour into the brew, with another twenty to go, Harry’s thoughts came back to the salve. “It’s really great that you put that together,” he said, stirring as precisely as he could. The potion he was working on wasn’t as temperamental as some others could be, but there wasn’t a single potion that could just be thrown together without paying attention. “It could be useful for loads of things, especially in the field I’m going into.”

Draco was slicing a root, and paused to glance over at him. “You are going into healing, aren’t you? I nearly forgot. You don’t talk about it often.”

Harry shrugged, then winced when the movement jostled his stirring hand. “I don’t think about it much, to be honest. It’s weird to think that after everything we’re going to just go out and be adults and get jobs, you know?” Not to mention that thinking about it stressed him out more than he wanted to admit. “Besides, it’s not like I’m ace at healing right now. No reason to bring it up.”

“I seem to recall that you asked Hermione to heal Thomas at that picnic instead of doing it yourself,” Draco remarked casually. As conversational as his tone was, Harry didn’t miss the furtive glance Draco sent his way.

“I’m still kind of a novice,” Harry told him, wincing a little. “I can do basic charms, but I have loads to learn still. It doesn’t help that I was upset, at the picnic. When it happened. Hermione’s better at staying calm with stuff like that, and I didn’t trust myself to be casting at Dean’s neck when I was still shaky.”

“You’re going to have to get better at working through stressful situations like that if you want to be a healer, Harry,” Draco pointed out quietly.

“Pour those root slices in,” Harry said instead of replying, focusing on the count of his own stirring for a moment. Draco did, but he also didn’t look away afterwards, watching Harry with a raised eyebrow.

“Harry.”

“I know, okay?” He stirred his potion a little to vigorously and winced when it bubbled alarmingly. The next stir got back into rhythm and he held his breath until the bubbling went down. “I never said I was already ready to be a healer, but I want to _learn_ , and I think I can. No one goes into an internship already knowing everything, you know? And most interns go in with only their NEWT, no healing training required. It’s not like I’m _behind_.”

“I never said you weren’t cut out for it,” Draco sighed. “And I know you’re not behind or anything on it – I was just pointing out that it’s something you’ll have to work on. You have to know your weaknesses in order to build them up.”

“Well, I know that,” he told Draco smartly, and thankfully, Draco let it go. Harry, however, couldn’t. “Do you think I have what it takes?”

If Draco was surprised that he was bringing it up again, he didn’t show it. “We’ve talked about this before.”

“I value your opinion and would like to hear it again given new evidence about my lack of talent in the area. Sue me.”

A ghost of a smile touched Draco’s lip. Harry actively decided not to react to the warm sweep of wing over his back that gave away how much Draco liked that statement. “I think you can do it. Not everyone goes into a profession because they have an innate talent for it. Some people just care about the work and are willing to learn and improve to do it. You fall into that category and it’s _fine_. As for not trusting yourself when you’re upset about things, well. That’s just something you’re going to learn by trial. I’d think most Healers learn how to stay calm in crisis on the job.”

“I should be better at that, considering everything,” he muttered, feeling a little better. “I should be used to it.”

“Nobody gets _used_ to being in stressful situations, especially when lives are at stake. It’s just a matter of focusing on the job at hand, and I have total faith you can do that. It’s just that attacking in battle takes a different kind of focus and energy than staying calm and healing someone who is really hurt, or even dying.” He stepped back from the desk, and after another round of clockwise stirs, Harry did as well. The potion only needed to settle for ten minutes before being complete, and Harry hoped it turned out okay. It was the correct color and consistency – it should be fine.

There was something about Draco’s faith in him that made him wonder for a wild second why he was so stressed about their potential mating. Draco was _good_ for him, at least he thought so. They supported each other and Draco had been more positive about his wanting to Heal than even Hermione and Ron had been. They even got each other’s senses of humor, and shared enough hobbies that they could spend time together without fighting to stay interested. What would be so bad about them being together for the rest of their lives?

Then Harry remembered that they’d been friends for a total of two months, and went back to panicking about it. It was a nice daydream, but he didn’t know how he was going to handle it if they really _were_ developing a bond. Rationally, it wasn’t something he should just go along with as if it wasn’t a major life decision.

He glanced over at Draco, sitting down to wait for the potion to finish settling. What would Draco say when he found out? If it was really what was happening? Would he even reciprocate? He knew that veela mating had to be mutual, but Harry wouldn’t put it past himself to be the exception.

“Looks quite passable to me, Harry, my boy,” Slughorn told them when he came around to check out their completed potion. “And Draco – your salve is also looking like it has a lot of potential! Excellent work, the both of you.” He clapped Draco on the shoulder, and Draco gave him a small grin. It was probably a good thing that he hadn’t tried patting Harry, but he wasn’t going to say anything about it unless it became a problem.

“Thank you, Professor,” Draco replied on both their behalves. “We know that this semester has been a little complicated, with me and Harry not being in classes, but we’ve been working hard to keep up.”

“You’ve been doing well,” Slughorn reassured them. “Now, if you’d be so kind as to store your potion and clean your cauldron, you can get going. I’m sure there’s other things you’d like to be doing on a Thursday afternoon.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry agreed. “Thank you.”

Their only other plans, however, had to wait until evening. By the time they walked out of Slughorn’s classroom, it was barely one twenty and they had five hours to kill.

They ended up in the library, claiming a small corner and reading to pass the afternoon. They ventured out only to get a late lunch from the kitchens while other students were in class, and by the time six o’clock rolled around and Hermione would be getting out of her last class for the day, Harry’s arse was properly numb.

They made their way up to the tower, Draco more lethargically than Harry. He looked beat in spite of the nap he’d had earlier than morning, and Harry knew that if they gave him a chance he’d probably be asleep the second they got him and Harry onto a couch. Harry got a sick sort of thrill out of knowing that Draco needed him – but it wasn’t fair to Draco, and he hated to see him so worn out.

When they climbed into the common room, Draco paused Harry before he went to sit down. “Where’s the loo?” he asked, still yawning a bit. Harry directed him in the right way and he shuffled off with a groggy thanks.

Only too aware of the packed room – Neville was nowhere to be found at the moment, but a couple of the younger students were by the fire. He waved at Demelza and Romilda when they grinned at him and called out a couple greetings, but he made his way to where Hermione sat alone at one of the work tables. He sat down in front of her and leaned forward, trying to keep his voice down. He couldn’t bring it up in front of Draco, not yet, and he didn’t want to alert the whole common room to the issue – but he had to _know_.

“What do you think the chances are that Draco’s symptoms are because he thinks I’m a potential mate?” he asked under his breath, as quickly as he could without being misunderstood. Underneath the table, he was wringing his fingers, nearly twisting them to the point of pain and yet unable to stop.

Hermione blinked at him for half a second before her features settled into pure exasperation. Harry wondered if he should have opened with _hello_. “Figured it out, did you? I put it together no more than an hour after you left here the other day.” He gaped at her.

“You _knew_? And you didn’t tell us?” he hissed, outraged. Hermione didn’t seem to be impressed with his theatrics. She leaned in closer over the table.

“I wasn’t going to say anything until I figured out how to fix it,” she hissed back. “I knew that would be the first thing Malfoy asked, and I didn’t want to deal with the drama of telling him I didn’t have an answer.”

Breaking the mating bond, potential or otherwise, hadn’t even been on the list of things that Harry had been worrying about. It probably said something about him that he’d immediately gone to _how do I handle it happening_ with no thought of _how do I stop it_.

“What do you mean, fix it? You think Draco would want to break it off?”

Hermione looked at him incredulously, almost a mirror of Pansy’s expression earlier. “You’re the one who told me Malfoy wasn’t looking for a mate,” she told him. Which – yes, he had been, hadn’t he? Draco’s words came back to him – _I don’t see it being a problem. I don’t think I could handle it right now if it was._ “Not to mention it’s making him attack people at random! Your two options are currently mate him, _for life_ , or let him go on without being able to control himself, which isn’t fair to him, or you, or anyone else in this school.” 

“Have you found something?” he asked, trying valiantly to process the situation.

Hermione visibly forced herself to calm down. “No, I haven’t. Nothing viable, anyway. The two main reasons potential mates fail to pan out are if somehow emotionally they stop being compatible, or an extended lack of proximity. Seeing as you’re not going to fall in love with anyone else anytime soon and you literally cannot break all ties with him for a month right now, there’s nothing we can do about it. At least not until the end of the semester, or Malfoy gets his veela under control, which isn’t looking likely given the circumstances.” Harry was glad he was well versed in making out Hermione’s fast whispering, because she was barely audible.

“The only way to fix it without cutting ties with him is falling in love with someone else?” he asked, brow furrowing. He wasn’t going to say he was _in love_ with Draco, but he couldn’t imagine fancying anyone else at the moment.

Hermione shrugged. “That or suddenly realizing that there’s something about him that will prevent you from loving him, which also doesn’t seem likely.” She sighed. “It’s not just you, you know. Sure, you fancy him enough for the magic to recognize you as a potential life-mate, but he has to fancy you, too. Or at least have the capability to fancy you. There has to be interest on both sides, which is why this is complicated. It’s not like fate dictated you’re Malfoy’s mate and he just doesn’t want one. He doesn’t want a mate right now, but it’s _happened_ because he likes you, or could like you.”

“In other words,” Harry summarized slowly. “We only have ourselves to blame.”

“Exactly,” she confirmed. “It’s not a matter of him fighting fate or veela magic – it’s just a more extreme version of an ill-timed crush, except that in his case, it’ll essentially get him married at eighteen.” She didn’t look mad anymore, but she didn’t look happy about it either. Harry couldn’t even really feel happy about it himself, knowing that it wasn’t something Draco wanted or thought he could handle on top of everything else.

He tried to gather his thoughts enough to say something, to maybe ask for help, but Draco was ambling back over to them, still tired but more awake than he’d been when they’d come in. “So,” he said, hardly looking before he collapsed into the wooden desk chair next to Harry. His wings were resting over the back of it in a way that looked uncomfortable, but probably wasn’t, judging by the way Draco looked ready to fold his arms, drop his head, and fall asleep at any moment. “Any luck with why I’m a raging instinct monster?”

Beautiful phrasing, Harry thought with an internal snort. Hermione’s mouth twitched into a smile in spite of herself. “Not yet. I have a couple ideas, but no real solutions, so it’s not worth mentioning until I have more information. I ordered a couple books written by a veela who lives in a colony in France. When they get here I should be able to help more.”

If Draco saw through her lie, he didn’t say anything – but Harry spent the rest of the evening with a pit in his stomach he didn’t think he’d be able to explain with words. When Draco found out about their potential mating, he would want to break the bond. Harry knew that for a fact.

He knew it was the right thing to do. They were both eighteen – far, far too young to be getting into a life-long commitment, nevermind the fact that he and Ginny had actually almost gotten engaged before she’d decided she needed to get out of England and they’d decided to end it. Draco was still a mess, and hadn’t even figured out how to completely glamour himself. They barely got along with each other’s families, and had loads of unresolved tension from the war that they’d put aside in the interests of living together peacefully. It was too soon to say he could love Draco, or spend the rest of their lives together, and he _knew_ that.

He was impulsive, not stupid… and yet none of that changed the fact that a part of him _wanted_ Draco. Wanted him enough to take whatever it could get.  

When he looked over at Draco, who wasn’t paying him any attention at all as he carried on a conversation with Hermione about her research, the usual thump of his heart at the sight of Draco’s smile made him frown. It seemed as though he and Draco had really stepped in it, and Harry had no idea how to fix it.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are... a good 75k into this fic... and we're only NOW getting somewhere with the main ship. Sorry guys, I'm a trash goblin who decided the slowest burn to ever burn was the way to go. Can you believe the original fic was only 6k? It shouldn't surprise me that deciding to rewrite it led to this mess.

“Has Granger found anything yet?”

Harry looked up from where he sat on their sofa, doing his reading for Transfiguration. Draco seemed to loom over him, the wings making him cut a larger-than-life figure.

Harry simply raised an eyebrow. “You and Pansy are the ones with the charmed notebooks. How should I know?” It was cruel to bait him, considering both how serious the situation was and the fact that Harry _did_ know, but at the same time, he wasn’t ready to tell him.

He knew that a potential mating between them was bigger than himself and his own feelings, but at the same time, admitting what Pansy had told him and what Hermione had confirmed… it would mean admitting to Draco that he had feelings for him. It would mean that the _one_ person who wasn’t supposed to fall for him, who wasn’t supposed to be a danger to him, had actually managed to be perhaps the biggest threat of all.

More than anything, he was afraid that Draco would hate him – and that was something he wasn’t sure that he could handle.

“If you want to know so bad, write to her and ask her to come see us,” Harry said when Draco just glared at him. “If Pansy can come hang out in our rooms, so can Hermione. Write a note and call a house elf to deliver it.”

Draco narrowed his eyes at him. “If you don’t think I’ll actually do it you are sorely mistaken.” His tone held a hint of accusation – and to be fair, Harry really _didn’t_ want to talk to Hermione again, not so soon. The longer they kept it from Draco, the worse the backlash would be, and if Hermione really couldn’t find an answer… they couldn’t hold off forever.

“Go on,” he said instead of voicing his concerns. “Write her a note. I’m sure she’ll be happy to come and talk about her research with you for a little bit.” He was sure he could convince her to just wait a couple more days, even if she had found something. Just a couple days to wrap his head around the idea that Draco was going to find out about Harry’s feelings – the feelings even _he_ liked to avoid thinking about.

As promised, Draco stomped over to their table and scribbled a note in his quick, fluid shorthand. Harry loved his handwriting – where his was messy, Draco had clearly been taught from a young age to write in the same pretty cursive his parents used. It’s all about presentation, Harry reminded himself. After the house elf Draco called had come and gone, the blonde grouchily made his way back to the sitting area with Slughorn’s notes on his potions proposal in his hand. Harry wondered how he had time to finish his other work with how much time he spent on the potions project – he himself had trouble keeping up with all his classes with his time evenly split between them, not to mention that the NEWTS were in a little over a month.

“I told her to come at her earliest convenience so that we could talk,” he informed Harry, and Harry just quirked a half-smile at him. Draco huffed, and sat down in his armchair. “You think I’m being crazy about this, don’t you?” he asked, somehow both grumpy and despondent.

Harry melted, setting his book down with a frown. “Of course not,” he disagreed. “This is important, Draco, and I know that. I just thought it was kind of funny because you were so insistent that nothing was wrong.”

Draco nibbled on his lower lip. Harry forced himself to keep his eyes on Draco’s instead. “I didn’t want anything to _be_ wrong. I’m out of sorts enough as it is.” He pulled at a loose thread on his slacks. God knows Harry had tried to get him to wear jeans around their rooms like a normal person, but Draco always refused. “But… it’s getting hard to focus enough to even glamour what I can now. I’m so tired, Harry – but I still can’t sleep, and when I can’t sleep I lay awake worrying about you. Did you know I have to look over and check on you in the night so I know you’re there, and safe? That’s… you and Pansy, you’re right. It’s not normal, even for veela.” He shrugged. “So, if Granger can find the answer, I say let her.”

Harry, in spite of himself, smiled. “Three years ago you would have gagged saying that.”

Draco’s expression went flat. “Call it character growth,” he deadpanned, unamused, but Harry just smiled a little wider.

“I’m not trying to be a prick about it, you know,” he informed him, glancing at him briefly before returning to look at his book. It was something Draco did a lot to hide seem cool and aloof, and Harry found himself quite liking the method. “I just like it when my friends get along, that’s all.”

Draco’s face did something complicated, before he finally sat back in his armchair and looked at Harry as if he was something very strange. “You do know that our friendship isn’t contingent upon what your friends think of me, right? I’m not going to just abandon you once this bodyguard farce is over because I hate your friends.”

“You don’t hate my friends, though.”

“I hate Weasley,” he clarified archly. “I do not particularly hate any of the others. Only Weasley has consistently been enough of a pain in my arse to warrant hatred.”

“I love that you respect me enough to talk openly about how much you hate my friends.”

Draco rolled his eyes and pointedly ignored him to re-decipher Slughorn’s handwriting for what had to be the fifth time. He’d edited the proposal enough that Harry privately thought Draco’s perfectionist self _had_ to be out of things to edit.

Not less than twenty minutes later, a house elf returned with a note from Hermione – not the same elf, Harry thought, but she greeted him in a similarly squeaky voice, so he wasn’t sure.

Draco took it with a hasty thank you and immediately read it, not even bothering to say goodbye to the elf, who smiled at Harry’s little wave and disappeared with a pop.

“She says she’s busy until this evening but she’ll come by then,” he told Harry, looking put out. “It’s a Sunday. What could she be busy with?”

He squinted at Draco. “I know that our world is pretty much just the two of us and this room, but Hermione’s got all sorts of other friends and interests. Who knows. Maybe she had Hogsmeade plans.” His eyes lit up. “We should go to Hogsmeade! Haven’t done that since we both moved in, yeah?”

Draco looked down at his potions proposal and back to Harry, conflicted. “But… Harry, I’m tired.” He looked it, too, with the way his head kept nodding in spite of his lively quips and efforts to get work done. “I know you keep saying that getting out is good for me but honestly, it’s just making me more exhausted.”

“When we went out Thursday you took a nap on the lawn,” Harry said with a roll of the eyes. “And you know as well as I do that if we stay here you’re gonna come over onto the couch” – _next to me_ – “and take another nap anyway. At least if we’re out walking around you’re not sleeping through the day.” He softened a little. “I know you _want_ to sleep through the day, too, okay. I’m not ignoring how shit you feel. I’m just saying that either way you’re not going to get much done on our actual work and you’re probably going to fall asleep regardless. So, we should go have fun instead.”

He tried not to think about the work he was pushing off himself, just like he had done every time he dragged them both outside. He couldn’t bring himself to regret it either, because going out and doing things with Draco was a far better use of his time than sitting silently with him studying.

“Are you just trying to cheer me up?” Draco asked suspiciously.

Unabashedly, he nodded. “I know you’re miserable, so I’m trying to help. A little. You seem a little more cheerful when we can go outside and do things.” Less so, of late, considering how often Draco ended up anxiously walking pressed against his side to make sure no one touched him, but the point remained.

“It’s not that I don’t enjoy going out and doing things with you,” Draco told him with a sigh, clearly trying to find some middle ground. “But it’s hard to enjoy things when I either want to sleep through them or _am_ sleeping through them.”

Harry put his book aside, recognizing that he wasn’t going to be reading it for a while, and leaned in with his elbows on his knees. “Look, why don’t we just go down to the Three Broomsticks and get a bite to eat? And then we can come right back up. It’s just… what’s the point of having the freedom to go if we want if we never use it?” Without wanting to, he got a little excited at the prospect. No, it wasn’t a date if both parties weren’t aware, but… it would kind of be like one. Him and Draco, out for lunch… it wasn’t like they didn’t eat together all the time anyway, but Harry couldn’t help but like the idea.

But something he’d said made Draco’s mouth purse, his eyes shuttering to hide his thoughts. “It’s not a good idea, Harry.”

Draco’s change in tone made him frown, leaning back again as if he’d been smacked. He didn’t just sound tired or vaguely disapproving anymore – he sounded almost angry. “I… it’s not? We don’t have to go. I just thought it would be nice.” He hated how abashed he sounded, like Draco rejecting his idea actually hurt him. He refused to admit even to himself that it kind of did.

Instead of dismissing him, the way Harry half-expected he would, Draco winced. He looked at Harry oddly – almost pleadingly, as if begging Harry to understand something he didn’t want to say.

“It was a stupid idea,” he tried again. “Let’s just forget about it.”

“It’s not that it wouldn’t be fun, Harry,” Draco began, slightly unsure, but Harry just picked up his book again, determinedly not looking at Draco’s regretful expression. Regretful for what, anyway? Snapping at him? Or rejecting him? Harry wanted to wince himself. It wasn’t as if Harry had actually asked him on a date.

“It’s just that you don’t want to go, and that’s fine –“

“There are _reasons_ –“

“- that you don’t have to explain to me –“

“She hates me.”

Harry realized that they were having two very different conversations. He slowly looked up at Draco, who – oblivious to Harry’s inner self-berating over Draco not wanting to go on a date Harry hadn’t even properly asked him out to – had that familiar look of self-loathing on his face, with his eyes downcast and his frown small but pronounced.

“Who?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“Madame Rosmerta.”

Realization dawned, and Harry felt sick to a stomach in a way he was all too familiar with lately. Draco wouldn’t meet his eyes, a darker parody of Harry’s embarrassment from just moments before. “I’m sure…” he began, and had to pause to swallow. His mouth was suddenly dry. “I’m sure she doesn’t –“

“I wrote her a letter, to explain and apologize,” Draco said without preamble, voice the same monotone it was when he spoke about his father. “And she told me that she appreciated the sentiment but would also appreciate that I never contact her or come into her business again.” His wings were pulled in as tight as they could be considering the arms of the chair and his shoulders were drawn. “She said, and I quote, that the closest to forgiveness I would ever get from her is her not testifying at my trial.”

Harry realized that she hadn’t. Katie Bell hadn’t either – though Harry wasn’t sure anyone had ever disclosed who had Imperiused her.

“That…” He wanted to say it was a little harsh, but though it was all well and good that _he_ forgave Draco’s crimes, he wasn’t the one who’d spent a year being forced to betray her allies. He wasn’t the one who had nearly died because of Draco’s actions. Katie’s face, twisted in pain, flashed through his head.

“I don’t blame her,” Draco admitted and, really, Harry should have been used to Draco’s sort of brutal honesty by then. He wondered if Draco had always been that open and self-aware with Pansy or Blaise, or if it was part of the “character growth” he’d mentioned.

“It doesn’t make it easier,” Harry tried. So many of Draco’s experiences were things he couldn’t begin to relate to, but Merlin, he tried so hard to help. He knew he’d missed the mark, though, when Draco just shrugged.

“I don’t really deserve easier, though, do I?” he asked. It sounded like a rhetorical question. “I did Imperious her, and considering that… I can’t blame her for not wanting to ever see my face again. Sure, I thought I had to at the time – I justified it to myself – but it doesn’t change the fact that I stole her free will to save my own skin.” He shifted in his seat. Harry tried to meet his eyes, but he wouldn’t look up. “I almost got Katie Bell killed, too, even if I didn’t mean for that to happen. She was almost too nice about it, in the end, but she implied she didn’t want to see me ever again either.”

“You’ve changed, though,” Harry said slowly, conflicted but still wanting so desperately to make him feel better. He knew that Draco did those things, and he couldn’t pretend that he didn’t – it made him sick, sometimes, but mostly because Draco had been backed into a corner where he thought doing those things was the only way. He wondered to himself if that kind of thinking was selfish of him.

“Just because I know better now doesn’t mean I’m not responsible for doing it in the first place,” Draco told him quietly. “Just because I apologize now, because I wouldn’t do it again if I had the chance to do it over – it doesn’t erase the fact that I did those things. Katie Bell and Madame Rosmerta both are completely in the right to not want to ever see my face again. They’re perfectly right for thinking my family’s lives aren’t worth theirs, even if I thought they were at the time.”

Harry was quiet for a moment. “You’re right,” he said. He couldn’t do anything but be honest. “If I were either of them, I wouldn’t want to ever see you again, either. Just because I can look at it from an outsider’s perspective, and weigh the reasons and the person you are now… doesn’t mean they can or should even have to.” Draco nodded. “Why aren’t you looking at me?” he asked softly.

Draco scoffed under his breath. His face was screwed up. “Because I’m _ashamed_ , Potter. Surely you can understand that? I’m sitting here, admitting to doing terrible things to the ruddy Saviour of the wizarding world, and I know that if you were any saner than you are you’d hate me too!” He finally met Harry’s eyes, glaring fiercely. “We keep doing this – I tell you all about how I’m a monster, and I’m waiting for the day we have a little talk and then you leave. You’ll leave, and never come back, and I’ll deserve that, too. I said earlier I wasn’t going to abandon you, but one day something I say or that Weasley says is going to drive the point home that I don’t deserve your friendship, and you’ll do it for me.”

“I’m not going to abandon you, you berk,” Harry snapped back, exasperated. “And you’re stupid for thinking I will, like I don’t already know all the awful shit you’ve done. I _know_. I don’t like it, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to suddenly decide I can’t handle it.”

“It doesn’t help,” Draco insisted, frustrated. “You don’t get it! You’re a good man, Harry – you’ve done incredible things. And here I am, someone who was literally your enemy, and I have to live with the fact that you care about me _in spite of_ me. You don’t know what it’s like to be the villain in the stories. I’ll have to live with that my whole life.”

“I don’t care about you in spite of _you_ , Draco,” he corrected quietly. “I care about you in spite of what you’ve _done_.” Draco kept glaring at him, but his eyes were suspiciously wet. “I promise I’m not going to suddenly change my mind about you,” he added softly.

There was a long silence, and then Draco grabbed his potions proposal and stood. “I’m going to take a nap,” he announced, and stalked off toward his bed. Harry sighed, but didn’t fight with him as he drew the curtains around him, and he didn’t call out the blatant lie.

 

When Hermione finally arrived that afternoon, pink-cheeked from being outside but utterly unimpressed at Harry’s helpless gesture at Draco’s drawn curtains, he could have kissed her. He’d been sitting in silence for hours – he’d even taken an actual nap himself after lunch. He’d asked Draco if he’d wanted something to eat, and the blonde had emerged only to give him a tight smile, grab a plate, and crawl back onto his bed. His hand emerged since only to put his empty plate on his nightstand.

“I hope you’re planning on feeding me,” she said in lieu of a greeting. “Because I’ve been out all day and I’m _starved_.” She came forward, sitting down next to Harry on the couch. She shrugged her robes off her shoulder, leaving her in a blue blouse and jeans.

“Dinner usually shows up in about half an hour,” he answered, still making faces at Draco’s closed curtains. “He’s been in there for hours,” he added under his breath. “We were talking earlier… I just want to warn you, because he’s probably not in a very good mood.”

Hermione sighed heavily. “Well, I’m going to make it worse.”

His eyes widened. “Hermione –“

“He needs to know, Harry,” Hermione said quietly. “I told you I’d wait until I had more answers – but I’m not finding anything else I don’t already know. I don’t think there are other options.” His heart beat hard against his chest, but – he knew she was right, and he hated that. Draco needed to know, but judging by how unpleasant their earlier conversation was, Harry didn’t think Draco would take their potential bond well.

“Draco,” he called, resigned, instead of answering her directly. “I know you’re not asleep, so you might as well come out and say hello.”

“I have the research for you,” Hermione added.

It was this that made Draco grudgingly emerge from his bed, grumbling to himself but not outwardly antagonistic. All of Harry’s minor irritation at his seclusion melted away when he really took in how miserable Draco looked anew. His hair was messy and unkempt – more than it had been that morning, probably from rolling around in bed while avoiding Harry – and the bags under his eyes were starting to look like bruises.

He came to sit in front of them in the armchair, unhappy but not angry. “Lay it on me, then. I’m desperate to know what’s going on.” Hermione and Harry traded a glance. Harry thought they were subtle about it, but Draco immediately turned a glare on Harry. “You _know_?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he muttered awkwardly, feeling just as wretched as he’d thought he would under the force of Draco’s narrow-eyed stare. “It’s… personal.”

“Yeah,” Draco said disbelievingly. “Personal as in it affects my life and the way I act and my _health_. But sure, it’s personal.”

Harry glared back, frustrated. Leave it to Draco to make telling him Harry _liked_ him the most difficult thing he’d ever done. “Personal as in it involves personal feelings and I wasn’t ready to tell you, so don’t be a dick.”

“It’s not like we don’t share _feelings_ all the time,” Draco sneered. Between them, Hermione was incredulously looking back and forth at the both of them. “You secretly hate me after all? Is that it? Am I catching your bad vibes?”

Hermione huffed, cutting off the beginning of Harry’s retort. “Actually, Harry fancies you!” she snapped, and Harry felt his face flame within seconds. Draco’s eyes widened. “You have the beginnings of a _mating_ bond – now quit fighting! _Children_.”

Harry winced at the way Draco went white. For a long moment, nobody spoke.

“You…” Draco whispered, accusingly, looking at Harry as if he’d betrayed him. “You did this to me?”

Harry would never be able to forget the look on Draco’s face when he said that, but thankfully Hermione interrupted as he sputtered, trying to get words out. His stomach was a tight knot of anxiety, his chest tight.

“It has to be _mutual_ ,” she corrected crossly. “You did this to each other.” When Draco didn’t respond, and Harry _couldn’t_ , she continued. “I know you won’t want to hear this, but the thing with Dean was actually a pretty standard response. You thought Harry was being attacked, and tried to protect him – probably because he was already a potential mate. But then, when you called him yours, and he agreed, it got taken a step further.”

“We have a mating bond?” Draco asked, voice a careful monotone.

“A courting bond,” she corrected. “A mating bond is completed. A courting bond is what you’ve got – you’ve settled on Harry as your primary prospective mate, and you’ve confirmed it verbally with enough intent between the two of you that it took.” She shifted in her seat. “However, since you’re not actually in a relationship, you haven’t had the continued confirmations and physical contact that a courting couple would normally have. That’s why you’ve been so anxious. It’s also why you haven’t been able to sleep – the bond is trying to push you back together, by forcing you to sleep with Harry. You can only sleep when he’s next to you.”

“All of this happened because my veela instincts want him to be my mate?” Harry didn’t miss the way his fingers tightened over his knees, suddenly sharper. His feathers took on a metallic tinge, and it made Harry feel _ill_ to know that the news was so bad it was eliciting a panic response in Draco.

Hermione looked wildly unimpressed. “All this happened because _you_ want him to be your mate.” She looked at Draco properly, took in how pale and upset he appeared, and softened. “I know that this is uncomfortable, and not what you wanted. Harry mentioned once you weren’t looking for a mate – but this is happening and the only real way to break it is for you two to cut contact for a month or two, which you obviously can’t do right now without you having to leave the school. You don’t have to confirm the bond, but…” Here she paused, uncomfortable. Harry hated to admit to himself that he was almost afraid of what she had to say. “But to ease the strain on your instincts – to help with the anxiety, and sleeping problems – it would probably be best if you slept together. Any kind of relationship-affirming physical contact would also help in the short term.”

“And in the long term?” Harry asked, forcing his mouth to work again, because Draco seemed to be in a state of shock.

“Hopefully you two can come to an accord to last until the end of the semester,” Hermione answered. She gave Harry a pitying look, glancing between him and Draco. “Then after the semester ends, you can break contact – at least for a few months – until the bond fades.”

Hermione waited, increasingly uncomfortable as the silence went on, before finally Draco made a quiet, unhappy sound.

“I would rather you both leave for a while,” he said quietly, and Harry frowned, trying not to look as miserable as he felt.

“But, you –“ he began to argue, but Draco glanced up at him with steel in his eyes.

“I need some time to _process_ this,” he snapped, voice rough. “So I need you to go for a little bit if that’s okay with you, Potter. I don’t care what you have to do – kiss me for all I bloody care; I need to think and I can’t be looking at you and your big crush on me while I do it.”

The words were harsh, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to be truly angry about it. “You have a crush on me, too, you know,” he muttered, but Draco’s narrowed eyes and the way his wings rose angrily made him shut up before he said anything else. “Hermione, can we have a minute?”

She nodded without saying anything and grabbed her robes, slipping out of the room. Harry heard a muffled greeting from Sir Geraint before the portrait shut behind her.

“We have to talk about this,” he said as calmly as he could considering that he felt an awful lot like he’d ruined Draco’s life by daring to have _feelings_ for him. “About… about the way I feel, and the way you feel, apparently, and –“

“We can talk once I’ve had the opportunity to process this,” Draco told him firmly. Frankly, Harry hadn’t heard him sound this unpleasant in months. “But I can’t do it now. Please, Harry –“ The steel shifted into something almost pleading. “We’ve had too many serious discussions today. Just do what you need to do so you can leave and I can have some time to think without going berserk.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” he asked, swallowing. He hated the fact that even though Draco looked so upset, the thought of kissing him made Harry flush.

“Then I’ll have Geraint call you back and we’ll figure something else out. Just kiss me or something and get it over with, so you can leave me alone.”

Harry had never thought that his first kiss with Draco would be when Draco was looking at him like he was a villain, with dread in his eyes and skin so ashen even the natural shimmering couldn’t save it.

He didn’t linger – he leaned in on command, pressing his lips firmly to Draco’s for barely a full five seconds before pulling away.

Draco closed his eyes, his mouth pulling into something that wasn’t quite a grimace, but close. “Please leave.”

He whispered “okay” and left before he could do any more damage.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the lateness and if this chapter seems messy. I took a vacation this past week, so I was across the country, and on top of all that business this chapter was a little difficult for me to write. Feel free to point out any glaring errors.
> 
> If it helps, I've put together a spotify playlist with the music I listen to/associate with this fic. It is also messy and is in no particular order (and some of it directly relates to events I haven't written yet for this fic but have planned, so it might not all make sense) but if you want...  
> https://open.spotify.com/user/tisthewoman/playlist/2Whjc3eUHIDpwvjXhmvhVX

He stood for an indiscernible amount of time outside their room, staring ahead with his back against the wall next to the portrait as if waiting would make Draco change his mind about kicking Harry out. His hands were balled into fists at his side.

Hermione was very quiet when she said, “Let’s go to dinner.” It was surprisingly gentle for how frank and aloof she’d tried to act inside.

“We were going to have dinner here,” he said blankly.

She touched his arm, eyebrows furrowed. “We can eat in the Great Hall, Harry. Let’s go – we should give him some time to work things out.” She glanced up at the portrait. “Um, sir? Could you tell Malfoy that Harry’s staying in Gryffindor tower tonight? He can send for Harry if he starts feeling anxious again.”

Geraint smiled down at her. “Of course, young lady. I would be happy to.”

“Thank you,” she said politely, and pulled Harry away as firmly as she could without jerking him around. “I’m not trying to be cruel, Harry,” Hermione added when he looked back at their rooms with what had to be the most pathetic expression he’d ever had on his face. “But you had time to process by yourself – he deserves that.”

“I know he does,” he said, still torn. “But does he have to kick me out to do it?”

“He deserves the chance to process,” she repeated. “Now, come on.”

The walk down to the Great Hall was quiet between them – Hermione was obviously trying to give him a minute without the inquisition, and he honestly couldn’t think of anything to say except _he hates me_. It was a wild overstatement, of course – he highly doubted that Draco, whose loyalties were fast and ironclad, would suddenly despise him over something that wasn’t his fault. It still didn’t stop his heart from pounding in time with the panicked mantra.

The Great Hall, while realistically could not quiet completely based on the nature of children, seemed to pause for a moment when he walked in with Hermione, a dumbstruck expression on his face and no Draco in tow. A couple Hufflepuffs near the door grimaced at him – Cuthbert, he noticed, was one of them – but otherwise many of the students actively avoided looking at him. He wondered if it was because of how upset he looked, or because of general distaste for the company he’d been keeping. It was almost funny, how disdainful people were of Draco when he wasn’t accidentally alluring them into absentminded adoration. Mostly, it just made him angry.

“Come on,” Hermione muttered, leading him over to where Dean, Seamus, and Neville were sitting. As they passed another group of students his age, Parvati smiled at him. Her normally plaited hair was cut short – a recent development he’d missed, apparently, but it looked good. Next to her, Padma was talking animatedly about something, not even paying attention as he passed. Across the table, Romilda waved. He hadn’t seen any of them in so long it felt odd to be sitting at their table again, as if he’d never left.

It was strange to feel out of place at the Gryffindor table, he thought briefly. He’d missed his housemates, of course, but the lack of Draco was too obvious to him. He wondered if anyone else thought he seemed incomplete, like part of a set that was missing its half.

“You look glum,” Neville observed, raising an eyebrow. Harry, fleetingly, missed the days when Neville was awkward and didn’t confront things.

“I’m not glum,” he retorted, glumly, and was immediately frustrated with himself. Neville’s other eyebrow slowly rose to join its brother. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Something in his tone made Neville’s expression turn sympathetic, and he just nodded and went back to eating.

Harry didn’t want to make dinner awkward, especially since he had missed his friends more than he’d admitted to even himself, but he was in a terrible mood and it was obvious that everyone knew it. No one except Hermione and Neville even bothered to make conversation, though Dean went out of his way to make it very clear that he was happy to see Harry.

He felt surprisingly awful for being such bad company, but no one seemed to hold it against him, even if they were clearly curious as to the reason. He refused to answer their questions, and steered conversation to safer grounds – recent gossip, plans for the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, and other more or less pleasant topics.

“Are you going to speak at the memorial dinner?” Seamus asked curiously, pushing mashed potatoes around his plate without looking. Harry took a bite of his own, chewing absently. “And will Malfoy come? Considering the whole allure thing? Or the Death Eater thing?”

Harry actively decided not to get his hackles up. Seamus had a point, and he didn’t say it to be cruel. “Draco probably won’t come, for both of those reasons and more. As for speaking… I don’t want to,” Harry admitted. “McGonagall will probably try to convince me to speak, and I’ll probably say yes, but I’d rather not.”

Neville smiled at him, sympathetic but not pitying. Harry loved that about him. “People are going to expect you to do things like this for the rest of your life,” he sighed. “I figure that’ll be true for all of us.”

“ _I_ won’t mind,” Seamus snorted. “Maybe if I talk about it enough I’ll get on the cover of Witch Weekly. Wouldn’t that be great?”

Hermione snorted but otherwise didn’t respond. Frankly, Harry had nothing to say in response to that either, and just continued to play with his food. Eventually, even Neville stopped bothering trying to keep a conversation going, and Hermione leaned in. “Want to go up to the common room?” she asked quietly in his ear.

He nodded emphatically, and let her lead him upstairs. They passed several groups of students, going down to dinner late or going back to their rooms - some were friendly and would wave from a distance, others said hi, and others still would glare at Harry while giving him a wide berth. Some things never changed, he thought.

“There’s still a good half hour before dinner ends,” Hermione observed once they got past the Fat Lady. The common room was empty. “Want to sit in front of the fire? I’ll grab my knitting and we can relax. I’m still working on a scarf for Ron. He’s coming at the end of the week, did you know?”

He shook his head. “He didn’t say anything about it to me,” he muttered. Hermione didn’t look surprised.

“I think he wanted it to be a surprise, but I didn’t think you’d appreciate a surprise with everything else going on.” She disappeared up the stairs and left him to claim the couch. He wanted to be excited about Ron coming to visit, but she was right - with everything else going on, he could do without Ron blindsiding him while he was upset and preoccupied by this Draco issue. He hadn’t seen Ron since Christmas, and normally the idea of a visit would make him happy – but he was preoccupied.

Hermione came down again, carrying a tote bag full of yarn. “You can probably sleep out here tonight,” she observed. “I don’t think anyone will say anything.”

He knew it was petty, but he also didn’t stop himself from grumbling, “I don’t want to sleep here. I want to go back to my room and sleep in my bed, and make Draco _listen_ to me.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, plopping down in the armchair that was on the left side of the couch. “I told you it’s not a good idea. He needs time - and frankly, I think you could stand to think about this, too.”

He was getting really sick of having deep, introspective conversations with his friends.

“I don’t know what _I_ have to think about,” he told her, trying not to sound resentful and probably failing. He wasn’t really angry with her at all - but he was tired and upset over Draco’s immediate rejection, not to mention scared of a more permanent rejection when he went back to their rooms tomorrow.

Hermione looked conflicted, as if she was unsure of whether she really wanted to say what she was thinking. "I just think you should consider the long term effects of going into this thing with Malfoy, and I’m concerned that you haven’t because you’ve been so distracted worrying about how he was going to take your confession."

He blinked, honestly taken aback. "I - what do you mean?"

She huffed a little, setting her knitting down on her lap. She looked more pitying than anything, and he hated it. "I mean that veela mating bonds are not something to take lightly. They can be broken, but not without difficulty and legally, they count as marriages. This is serious. Do you really want to marry someone on a whim that you can't even take home to your family?"

Something awful twisted in his stomach. "It’s not a _whim_ , and I know Ron isn't his biggest fan, but -"

"Him letting the death eaters into Hogwarts in sixth year was the reason Bill got attacked by Greyback," she interrupted. Her eyes were harder than they had been before. "His father almost got Ginny killed. He was part of the group that killed Fred. I know not all of that is directly Malfoy's fault, but don't you dare say for a minute the Weasleys would be wrong to not want him anywhere near their family."

His mouth was dry. He really hadn’t expected Hermione to bring any of that up when she’d said he should think about it. "I thought you were okay with Malfoy." He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

"I don't hate him," she responded slowly, genuinely taking the time to think about it. "And I had no problem with you being friends, or even really fancying each other. It's your life, Harry, and honestly I think you're good for one another. Malfoy's changed for the better since the war, even more so once you became friends. But... having a crush on him is different than getting serious with him, and frankly I didn’t think he’d reciprocate, not until I realized about the courting bond. I don't want to say it's a bad idea, but I also don't want you to go into this without thinking about what Malfoy's done, about the effect this will have on our family."

He sat there for a long moment in silence. "I've forgiven him, Hermione. And I know not everything he did can be forgotten, but that's not who he is." He understood what he was saying, but he was Malfoy’s primary target growing up and _he’d_ managed to make things right with him.

She shrugged delicately. "I don't disagree, but... whether he wanted to or not, he and his family have hurt a lot of people and they don't have to forgive him. One apology does not reparations make." Her hands played with her knitting needles. Harry watched as her yarn came loose. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm sort of starting to like Malfoy. So are a lot of the people at school now, because we've seen his behavior change over the past year," she admitted quietly. "But I also can't just forget about years of tormenting, or the things he did in the war. The eighth years especially are trying to move on and be supportive because they see how awful things have been for the Slytherins, and they've seen that Draco isn't the same combative little prick he always was, but those who didn't come back this year... they haven't seen that. And even the ones who did still haven't totally gotten over the past, even if they're trying to be nice about it all. Not everyone can be like you, Harry."

He bristled half-heartedly. "What's that supposed to mean?" He wished he had something more intelligent or thoughtful to say - but Hermione wasn’t pulling any punches and he really _hadn’t_ thought about any of this. He didn’t want to admit that Hermione was right.

She gave him a twisted, bitter sort of smile. "You always want to see the good in people. I mean, historically, you're quick to accuse but you forgive easily. Your cousin didn't even properly apologize for how shitty he made your childhood, but you just... decided to put it behind you. Merlin, Harry, you even forgave Snape, as if saving your life every now and again makes up for the way he abused you and the other students in this school, or for willingly joining the Death Eaters in the first place. He treated Neville so badly that he was Neville's _bogart_. And yet, you still managed to forgive him."

"Draco's not Snape," he managed to argue, but he couldn't deny that she was right about the general idea.

"I'm not saying he is. I'm just making a point. The Weasleys don't know him, not like you do, and there's a chance they'll never _want_ to know him. And now that he's proven he's not always under control, that he could hurt someone, there's a chance that's all they'll see. Ron and Ginny especially. Even after he gets it under control, they'll see a dark wizard with the ability to kill someone effortlessly with his bare hands. They might learn to tolerate him but I can't promise they'll ever accept him. You need to think about that long and hard before you try to make him a permanent part of our lives."

"You really don't think they'll ever forgive him?"

She pursed her lips slightly in a way that made her look alarmingly like McGonagall. "Actually, knowing them, I think they will. I know I will, but it's going to take more than an I'm sorry or two. _Especially_ with Ron and Ginny."

He looked down, mulling over her words. He knew, logically, that she was right. He couldn't say that Draco had changed, regretted what he'd done, and magically make all that hurt go away. Hell, he couldn't do anything at all to fix the situation because it was Draco's actions that had caused it. He acted like a buffer for Draco in so many ways but he couldn't buffer this.

"Not to mention," she began again, faux conversationally, "that you kept them all out of Azkaban. I mean, Mrs. Malfoy and Draco I get. She was pulled in by her husband and he was a manipulated teenager trying to save his family, all right - I understand. But, when you spoke for Lucius Malfoy, I actually thought you'd gone completely mental." She gave a little laugh, as if she couldn't actually believe it.

"I just -"

"Oh, I know what your logic was," she snorted. "You figured, hey, if he can't do magic he's probably not much of a threat, and he'll die in a year or two anyway with how sick he's been, so why bother sticking him in prison. I don't even blame you for it, really, even if I think you're out of your mind because of it. I'm just pointing out that to the people they've hurt, all they see is that the Malfoy family didn't even have to serve time for their actions, which isn't going to help your case." It was startlingly harsh, coming from Hermione. “Ron has told me himself that he doesn’t think it’s fair.”

"You never said anything before," he said quietly. He felt properly chastised, as if he'd done something wrong. He still wasn't convinced he had, but he was starting to understand what Hermione was saying.

"Because Ron blew a bloody gasket at you and it didn't change your mind one bit. You would have done it no matter what I said, so I didn't bother." She said it matter-of-factly, not angry but something close to resigned. "Do I think Lucius deserved Azkaban? Yes. But... you're also probably right that it would have killed him, and I understand why you didn't want that. Logically, you’re probably even right that house arrest and limited magic is a good punishment for him. I just… I don’t like it, and I’d imagine a lot of the wizarding world feels the same."

He sat there, looking at her in silence, for a long moment. "Do you really dislike my speaking for them that much?" he asked finally, really and truly taken aback by her coldness on the subject – but it wasn’t as if he could blame her for it.

She took in a deep breath, and shook her head. "It’s not like they wouldn’t have gotten off anyway. They defected. The trial was a formality for crimes already committed, but Narcissa and Draco were clearly manipulated and Lucius, at the very end, led them to turn their backs on the Death Eaters, so it wasn’t likely that they were going to throw him into prison regardless. I just… think he should have gone, and you speaking on their behalf rankles a bit. Because if it had been a full trial and I’d had a say in it, I would have sent him straight to Azkaban without a second thought. Even knowing that it probably would have killed him.” The look on her face told him she wasn’t proud of it, but she meant every word.

Harry didn’t think he’d realized before that moment how deep the scars the war left went. Hermione, even just a couple of years ago, would never have said that. Frankly, Harry would have been the one gunning to round the entire lot up and ship them off to prison, but… the war had changed them all, but not in the same ways.

“Lucius wasn’t like the others. He was a supremacist and a nasty man, but he wasn’t a coldblooded killer,” Harry said, struggling to phrase what he was thinking. The only thing he could do was explain his reasoning, and he wouldn’t apologize for it. “Nott, or the Lestranges – they’re monsters, but Lucius Malfoy was just a bigot who thought backing that man would mean backing his ideals. In the end, even he saw that Voldemort’s side wasn’t the right one, but it was too late.” He quieted. “I _know_ he’s a bad person. He tried to open the Chamber of Secrets and I don’t agree with a single one of his beliefs – but something about him changed near the end of the war. He was a _shell_ of a man, Hermione, and I truly think that if he could have gotten out of it before he did he would have abandoned ship long before he did. I couldn’t send him to that place, not knowing the man he became, and that it would probably kill him.”

He stumbled over his words, trying to find a way to articulate the cold feeling he’d had in his chest the day he’d realized that sending Lucius Malfoy to Azkaban was sending him to his death. Rabastian, Greyback – men like them he could send without remorse, but Malfoy… all he could see when he looked at the man was the way he’d shivered away from Voldemort in fear the day of the final battle, and the way he’d desperately watched his son’s every movement. Even Draco’s explanation about trying to come to terms with the man his father was couldn’t chase that image away. Harry wasn’t pardoning him from his bigotry, from the things he’d done, but… at the end of the day Lucius _had_ defected, and he had spent most of the second wizarding war just trying to save his own skin. He wasn’t a good man, but there were bigger fish to fry and Lucius really had already essentially earned his family a pardon. Maybe he didn’t deserve a lighter sentence, but it was fitting, and so far it was working.

Hermione was smiling at him, but it was still slightly off. “Like I said. You want to see the best in people. I can’t really do that anymore, not the same way you can.”

Harry couldn’t look at her. “I won’t apologize for Lucius, and Draco isn’t his father.” He finally looked up and met her eyes. “Herm, he really _has_ changed. He’s kinder, and he’s trying to unlearn those awful things he was raised to believe. He’s a good person, Hermione - he’s trying so hard to be, and I think he is. I know that nobody _has_ to forgive him, but I think they should, and they can, if they get to know him.”

She reached out and took his hand. Something about the standoffish coldness she’d showed during her admissions melted away, leaving her looking a little tired but mostly warm. “I know that you’re starting to really care about Malfoy. Part of me think it’s ridiculous, but the rest of me knows that you’re good for each other. I want you to be happy, Harry, even if it’s with Malfoy. I just wanted you to think about this beyond just you two.”

“I want to be with him,” Harry whispered. It startled him to realize just how true that was. “I don’t want to hurt you, or the Weasleys, and I know I’m not really ready to be anybody’s _husband_ , but… I could be. Hermione, I think I could really love him.”

She nodded, and squeezed his hand. “Just be reasonable about it, okay? Don’t rush into it. If you can hold out until the end of the semester, and give the two of you more time to develop as a couple… if you decide then to go for it, I’ll support you. I’ll support you anyway, but I really want you to take the time to think this through. I think you and Malfoy both need it.”

“Thanks, Herm,” he murmured. The twisted edges to her smile smoothed out.

“Anytime.”

 

In the morning, he barely managed to wait two hours before slipping out of the Gryffindor commons. He’d had a good enough time sitting around with his Gryffindor peers the night before – even Romilda had come over to have a real conversation, and had given him a friendly smile that morning when she left for her first class. She appeared to have gotten over her crush on him, and he found that he actually enjoyed her company when she was just being herself. 

Still, no amount of friendly banter with Seamus, or conversation with Romilda and the Patil twins, could stop his mind from firmly sticking on the topic of Draco Malfoy. He bowed out when everyone began going to classes, and left shortly after ten with Hermione, who was headed to Transfiguration. God, Harry missed having Transfiguration with Hermione.

“Don’t push him,” she reminded him sternly when they prepared to go separate ways. “He has just as much stock in this mess as you do, and deserves some consideration for his feelings as well, yeah?”

He smiled at her, brief as it was. “I know, Herm. I want him to be okay, you know? Pushing him to do something he doesn’t want to defeats the purpose.” She nodded, looking appeased, and squeezed his arm.

“Have a good day, Harry,” she said warmly, and he patted her hand for a moment before turning to go up the stairs.

“You, too,” he responded before he walked away, and made his way back to his and Draco’s room with a growing sense of discomfort.

He had no idea what Draco’s mood would be when he got in, and had the vague idea to just say hi quickly and retreat to take a shower so that Draco could put himself together enough for their inevitable confrontation.

Instead, when he slipped into the room hesitantly, Draco was sitting in his armchair, facing the portrait hole, and didn’t look surprised at all when Harry walked in. If anything, his face registered resignation and his typical exhaustion. The allure, unchecked and apparently out of Draco’s control, was so strong it took everything Harry had to not move closer to him on autopilot. He stiffened, taking a moment to push through the haze and center himself again.

“Hello, Harry,” Draco greeted him quietly. He didn’t sound angry anymore, which Harry thought was a step in the right direction, but he hated the idea of Draco being _resigned_ to his presence.

“We have meetings today,” he explained without prompting when he couldn’t think of anything else to say. “I figured…”

“I wasn’t going to yell at you for coming back,” Draco interrupted, sighing. “You live here too.” Instead of rolling his eyes, as he was usually wont to do, he just frowned down at his hands, folded in his lap. After a moment of Harry awkwardly shuffling his feet, Draco looked over at him properly. “I don’t want this to ruin us,” he admitted on an exhale. “I know that we need to talk, but I’m scared that if we do it will ruin everything, and this awkwardness isn’t really helping.”

Harry let himself move forward, finally, sitting on the end of the couch closest to Draco’s chair. “I promise you, however this ends… we’re still going to be friends,” he said slowly. “I won’t say… I’m not hoping for a certain outcome, in the long run, but. Me caring about you, even if you don’t really want me to care about you _that_ way, means that I want you to be happy, and a part of my life. Everything else is just details.”

Draco just looked at him for a moment, face blank. Even his eyes gave nothing away. “So if I told you that after this semester was over, I wanted to let the bond break and didn’t want to try anything else… you’d be okay with that?” His words seemed like such a contradiction to the way his allure was pulling Harry in like a homing beacon. It felt like it had gotten so much worse since before – god, he could barely breath around the desire to pull Draco close, to touch him.

Harry felt his heart constrict when he thought over what Draco said, but managed to keep most of his displeasure off his face. “I wouldn’t be _okay_ with it,” he corrected, trying to make his voice as even as possible. “I would still want you.” The word _want_ came out quiet, like he was a fifteen year old scared of admitting he had a crush. “But I care about you, and if you only want friendship with me, I’ll get over wanting you eventually. I just don’t want you to cut me out of your life.”

“I don’t _want_ to cut you out,” Draco told him, suddenly animated. His eyes, which had been so empty, blazed. “But I don’t want _this_. This isn’t good, Harry! I honestly don’t know how you’re managing to keep so calm about the fact that we have managed to almost get _bonded_.”

Harry huffed. “Maybe you don’t get it, but I _like_ you. I’m keeping calm about this because being with you isn’t actually the worst thing I could imagine by a long shot, and having you in my life isn’t a death sentence. Just because you’re not really interested –“ Even though Hermione said he _had_ to be, for it to have happened, he really wasn’t convinced.

Draco glared at him, suddenly angry again, and cut him off. “I’ve thought you were fit since fourth year, you prick! And don’t you dare think I don’t care about you, because I’ve made it very obvious in the past two months that I _do_ , but lov – _caring_ about you doesn’t mean I’m ready to _marry_ you!”

“How have you made it _obvious_ that you –“

“I trust you!” he spat, as if he couldn’t hold the words back anymore. “I tell you everything! I – I let you touch me even though I’m always half-terrified that I’ll overwhelm you with the allure! You know about my father, and my friends, and you make me laugh more than anyone else, and you didn’t think _hmm, maybe it’s a little unusual for friends to be all over each other the way we are_?” His cheeks, normally so pale, were flushed scarlet.

Somehow, Harry hadn’t even really considered that Draco liked him as well. Hermione said he’d have to for the bond to have taken, but Harry couldn’t even imagine the concept of Draco liking him as much as he liked Draco. He’d even said it, the day before – implied that Draco fancied him as well – but it wasn’t until now, with Draco pink-cheeked and angry in front of him, that he realized it was more than an abstract concept. Draco _cared_ for him, though Harry hardly thought he’d ever given a sign in that direction. Draco cared, and Harry… Harry couldn’t give him up.

“First of all, you’re not as obvious as you think. And second, if all that’s true, then why don’t you want to try this with me?” he asked, confused and hurt and alight with the knowledge that _Draco wanted him_. “I don’t mean now, but – ever?”

“I never _said_ I didn’t want that,” Draco groaned. “But I don’t know what I want at all and I’m scared and I can’t make a decision on it now. I can tell you want me to decide to be with you now, and I can’t do that. I don’t even believe you really want me. For all I know, you’re just a hapless victim of the allure and it’s made you think you fancy me, and then where will we be when we bond and it doesn’t work on you anymore?” He sounded half-hysterical.

Harry wanted to smash his face against the wall and refrained. His hand clutched at the arm of the chair. “You know allure doesn’t work like that – it can’t just create feelings out of nothing. Me fancying you isn’t a _veela_ thing; it’s a _Draco_ thing.” He flushed, embarrassment, but kept going. “I don’t get why you don’t think I could want you, like you’re not interesting and clever and…” He trailed off, unsure about how Draco would take to being called _so beautiful it hurts to look at_.

Draco just grimaced. “We just had a talk yesterday about all the awful things I’ve done, and how everyone we know and even more people besides think I’m evil. You’re not the least bit put off by that? Or by how difficult things would be for you if you decided to be with me publicly? Think of how horrified your adoring fans would be.” The words were sarcastic, but his tone was just _miserable_.

“My ‘adoring fans’ don’t get a say in how I live my life. Who I spend time with. Who I love.” He left it at that. Part of him wanted to bring up how Hermione had told him something very similar the night before, but the rest of him just didn’t _care_ about what people thought. “Look, I understand you can’t decide now. Hermione’s advice was to wait it out through the rest of the semester, until we can separate for a bit and get our heads on straight. Hopefully by then, you’ll have the allure and glamour down, and then we can let the bond weaken. We could decide then if we wanted to do this properly.” He took a deep breath. “I just don’t want you to not give us a chance, because… I really, _really_ like you. And I didn’t plan on telling you that, but now I have and I don’t want you to push me away. I can wait, but I don’t want to lose you in the interim.”

“I see you’ve been working on your vocabulary,” Draco muttered, but Harry didn’t react to his half-hearted attempt to make things less serious. It was something he always did when he didn’t know how to respond to something. “Actually, I. Erm. When you – you know, yesterday.” He made a vague gesture with his hand. “I… shit, I managed to do a full glamour, okay?”

Harry blinked at him.

“I think the kiss, when it helped settle my veela instincts, kind of grounded me? And it just felt like everything was easier.” His gesturing hand flapped a little more desperately. “Don’t think I’m saying you _fixed_ me, or anything, because I clearly still don’t have my allure under control, and I’m still kind of getting jerked around by weird bird instincts, but –“

“I’m proud of you,” he interrupted softly. “You’ve been working on it for ages, and I’m glad you’ve finally got it down.” He thought, briefly, that before all of this, he would have been jumping in excitement.  

Instead, they both just looked at each other miserably. It felt like, even though they’d talked, everything was still up in the air.

“I want to do what Hermione said,” Draco told him after a long silence. Harry couldn’t even be properly shocked that Draco used her first name. “Do what we have to, the _minimum_ of what we have to, to keep the courting bond from driving me crazy, and then after this semester ends we break contact for a while. Let it fizzle out, and then…”

“And we stay friends,” Harry said, determined, even though it felt like his heart was breaking. It felt like Draco was trying to very subtly tell him he didn’t want anything more, and he was realizing very quickly that he was more invested in the idea of them being together than he’d thought. “At the very least.”

“At the very least,” Draco agreed, and there was nothing else that Harry could say.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a reason this is so late. It isn't an excuse, but it is a reason. And that reason... is that I got obsessed with Assassin's Creed, and then the new semester started. So here I am, two months later, with a chapter that should have been uploaded ages ago. I'm a trash can. BUT I'm a trash can that appreciates your guys' support and patience, and I humbly thank you for coming back whenever I emerge from the trash to give you new chapters. xxx

By the next day, Harry and Draco had reached what could only be called an uneasy truce.

It killed Harry, because Draco was really only letting Harry get about five feet away from him before he retreated. He wouldn't dole out any of the easy affection Harry had gotten used to, and he also refused to sleep with Harry - even just to take naps. He looked more run down than he ever had, with his wings dropping low and sweeping the floor when he walked, as if holding them up was too difficult a task. He couldn't keep his full body glamour up for more than a second either, because it took too much out of him. All the books said that the glamour, once achieved, should have been like second nature - so it said something that Draco couldn't sustain it.

It wasn't that Draco was antagonistic. He wasn't angry any longer and appeared to hold no grudge; he just didn't know how to interact with Harry.

Harry, for his part, didn't want Draco to act any different. If he couldn't have anything more at the moment he would happily settle for Draco’s friendship. The problem was that Draco didn't seem to remember how to be friends.

If he was being totally honest, he probably wasn’t helping any. Draco was working on his salve while Harry awkwardly stood with a scarf around his neck and his robes on.

“You can keep sitting there, staring at me, or you can go see your friend while he’s here.” Draco’s tone was deceptively light – a good mask for the general awkwardness between them, to be sure.

“It’s not that I’m trying to leave you out,” Harry tried to explain, and ignored Draco’s deadpan expression when he glanced over at Harry in response. “I just don’t want you or him to be put in a situation where you’re uncomfortable, and the both of you are important to me -”

“There is literally nothing I want less than to spend time with the Weasel,” Draco interrupted, his long fingers playing with the ingredients he was preparing for the simmering pot in front of him. He was going slow, to make up for the way his fingers were less than steady with his knife. It made Harry worry. “Do I need to explain to you again that my friendship with you is not contingent on what Weasel thinks of me?” _Do I need you explain to_ you _that our long term relationship could be?_

Instead of saying that, he just huffed. “Just because you don’t care that he thinks you’re the scum of the earth doesn’t mean that I don’t.”

“I appreciate your concern over my reputation and wellbeing. I still don’t give a fuck.”

They stared each other down for several minutes before Draco sighed, setting his knife down on the table. His wings fluttered pointedly behind him to emphasize his exasperation. “Harry. The only opinion I care about here is yours.” Harry floundered when Draco paused to let him speak, and Draco’s expression softened into something private and fond at the sight. Now that he was looking for the signs, Draco _was_ a little less than opaque in his desires. But just a little. “You are my friend, not Weasley,” he said gently. “And I know that you are not in charge of his opinions. You’re not being a bad friend to me by being friends with someone who doesn’t like me.” He paused. “And frankly, Weasley has every right not to like me, so trying to get us to get along is kind of insensitive to him.”

“I hate it when you’re rational.” _And when you accidentally parrot Hermione_ , he thought.

A ghost of a smile turned Draco’s lips upwards. “I know you do. Now go, yeah? Spend time with your friend. He had to brave McGonagall to get permission to stay at the castle to visit; he deserves the attention and recognition he’s due for that.”

“We’re still having dinner together tonight, though… right?” He met Draco’s eyes, hiding nothing, and though Draco stiffened a little at the open wanting he found there, he still responded in a warm tone.

“Of course we are.”

He let Draco push him out the door, in spite of the allure begging him to stay.

 

The minor argument, it turned out, was worth it and all of the drama that had happened over the past few days when he slid into the Gryffindor common room to the sound of laughter. A familiar redhead was facing away from him on the couch in front of the fire when he walked in, more muscular but still familiar in shape, and he was gesturing wildly with his hand as he told some story.

It made Harry smile, the fact that Ron was in some ways so changed, but not changed enough to separate him from the boy Harry had grown up with.

“Harry!” Hermione called, smiling widely. She was practically glowing, sat on the other end of the couch facing Ron. Harry knew they’d missed each other, and that they were only waiting until Hermione graduated to get engaged – they’d been serious practically since the beginning, after all. It was good to see her so happy.

Seamus, Dean, and the Patil twins all perked up as well – the entire eighth year Gryffindor gang reunited.

Ron turned around quickly, already grinning, and was up on his feet by the time Harry made it over to pull him into a hug. He let himself be enveloped and clapped Ron on the back, squeezing just as tight.

“I’ve missed you, mate,” he muttered into Ron’s shoulder, and the other man just nodded, still crushing him with his arms. Harry couldn’t even complain; he and Ron had never been overly physically affectionate but they weren’t afraid to get touchy when it counted. And Merlin, how he had missed Ron. Letters didn’t fill the gap of the friend who charged into battle with him, who’d had his back since they were mere boys, who had loved him in spite of him being the Boy Who Lived and not because of it. “Good to have you back.”

“Good to be back,” he rumbled back. Harry let Ron go, but not before he pressed a hard kiss to his cheek. Ron laughed, rubbing at it, but his eyes were too pleased for it to have the desired effect. “I see you came sans bird boy.” Ron waggled his eyebrows. He said it in a structured tease – careful to keep any sneering or maliciousness out of it. In return, Harry just gave him an eye roll.”

“Draco said there was nothing he’d like less than coming to hang out with all us Gryffs,” he said cheerfully. “But he also used your first name the other day, Herm, so I think we’re wearing on him.”

She raised an eyebrow, but her lips twitched, giving her away. “I assume you worked out your little disagreement, then?” she asked, nonchalant. Ron made a curious sound, and Harry glared at her.

“It was barely a disagreement in the first place. We’ve dealt with it for the moment and shelved any arguments for when they appear later,” he answered as vaguely as he could. He turned to Ron, making a what-can-you-do face. “Can’t be peaches and cream all the time, can it?” He was really hoping that making it sound as domestic as possible would keep Ron from wanting to know what they were fighting about.

Ron raised one single eyebrow at him but made the obvious decision not to ask. Good man.

“Anyway,” Harry said brightly, changing the subject. “Ron, mate. How does it feel to be back?”

He grinned. “Like I’m an _ickle firstie_ again, honestly. It’s so surreal; I haven’t been in Hogwarts in ages.” He sat back down and Harry sat down at Hermione’s feet, an arm slung over her crossed left leg.

“It was a year ago,” Hermione snorted, eyeing him fondly. “Not that long.”

“Yeah, Ron,” Padma chimed in. She’d claimed one of the armchairs, while Parvati stole the other. Seamus and Dean were sat on the floor, using each other as cushions. “It’s not like you’re so much older than us, coming back to visit the children in school.”

“It seems longer when you’re out in an actual _career_ ,” Ron argued good-naturedly. “Really, just wait – one year out and you don’t feel the same at all. Rowlins was telling me just the other day he couldn’t believe I was only nineteen – you feel older, when you’re out working, really.” He shrugged. “Just imagine - without the war we’d all be out of school already, thinking fondly on when we were just little kids walking to class and visiting Hagrid on the weekends.”

Hermione pursed her lips slightly, thinking. “I can’t imagine what it’ll be like, leaving Hogwarts. Even last year… we were out doing important things, but it felt so natural to come back and continue with our education. I still felt like a kid, all things considered.” She paused. “Or maybe I just wanted to feel like a kid for a little while longer.”

“I definitely did,” Harry agreed.

Seamus and Dean were both nodding. “Keep talking about your job and how great it is, mate,” Seamus said, wrinkling his nose. “But I don’t mind being here with no serious responsibilities for a while yet. Count me out on the being a real adult front until I have to be.”

Dean snickered, musing Seamus’s hair. When Seamus turned to grin at him, he pecked him on the lips for good measure.

“Could you two be _less_ sickeningly in love?” Ron asked, sighing heavily. “Honestly.”

Dean turned to him incredulously. “When you walked in Hermione literally climbed you like a tree – I do not want to hear it.”

“We apologized for that!” Ron protested. “And you can’t _blame_ us; we haven’t seen each other since Christmas break! You and Seamus get to snog whenever you want.”

“That wasn’t a snog, you prick,” Seamus snorted. Harry watched the goings on with something close to delight. It felt stupid, for their banter to make him so _happy_ , but it was like being a child again, living in the dorms and pretending that the Dark Lord wasn’t out there. The only difference was that it was _better_ , because they were safe and relatively happy. “That was a _peck_ , if anything, which you would know if you were a better lover than you were a dashing auror – poor Herm, I always say –“

“I don’t need your sympathies, thank you very much,” Hermione said dryly, and Harry snorted a laugh himself. Seamus was practically _cackling_ , pressing his nose into Dean’s shoulder, which shook with muffled laughter itself.

Parvati was grinning widely. “Hermione, d’ya think if you met your thirteen year old self, you’d even believe you were the same person?” She waggled her eyebrows. “You just made a reference to your sex life and didn’t even blush. I haven’t seen you stay up studying in days – honestly, you barely seem like the same person to me and I watched you change in front of my very eyes. ”

She winked at Harry, who was snickering to himself. “She’s right, you know,” he chimed in. “When we went out and had that picnic, you didn’t even bring a book with you. The NEWTS are coming up, did you forget?”

Everyone laughed at Hermione’s constipated expression. “I take things seriously, you make fun of me. I lighten up, you make fun of me. How am I supposed to win?” Harry grinned at her innocently.

“You’re always a winner to me, Herm,” Ron told her charmingly. She didn’t seem impressed, but the twitching of her lips gave her away.

“Thanks, love,” she conceded with an eye roll.

There was something nostalgic about their banter - so nostalgic that Harry just leaned against Hermione’s leg and smiled while they chattered, while the Patil twins carried on conversations with the two couples, while Harry basked in the feeling that for once, nothing was wrong.

Part of Harry – a larger part than he wanted to admit – wondered what their group dynamic would be like with Draco in the mix. He was dry and sarcastic in a way that complimented Harry and Hermione (and would complement Ron, in a perfect world), but he was also a quiet, fond observer. Harry could just _see_ him sitting next to Harry with a small grin on his pink mouth, laughing under his breath at the banter. Granted, two minutes later he’d say something snarky, but it wouldn’t be cruel the way it had been in years past.

“Mate? You still with us?”

Ron raised an eyebrow at him, one hand resting over the back of the sofa to play with a lock of Hermione’s hair absently.

“I was just thinking,” he answered, cheeks pinking when he realized he’d zoned out thinking about Draco. “Sorry.”

“Got your head in the clouds,” Ron snorted. “As always. I always thought that after the war you’d get out of your head more, but I’m starting to think you’re just a _thinker_.”

He was almost surprised at the wistful edge to Ron’s musing.

“Not all of us are allergic to thinking,” Parvati snarked, and it reminded him so strongly of something he’d imagined Draco saying that he couldn’t help the bark of laughter he let out, regardless of the mock-offended look on Ron’s face. Parvati grinned at him. Hermione wouldn’t admit it, but Harry could see the amused quirk to her mouth. To his side, Seamus snickered helplessly while Dean just bit down a grin.

“I blame all of this attitude on the fact that you’ve been buddying up with Slytherins,” Ron groused. His tone was genuinely lighthearted, but the rest of them – Harry and Hermione included – stiffened.

“They’re not actually that bad,” Dean offered awkwardly after a long silence. “Pansy’s kind of funny.” Seamus nodded, shrugging.

Reluctantly, Padma nodded. “And Blaise has been helping me out in Runes. He’s really clever.” She glanced over at Harry. “We don’t see much of Malfoy these days, but he was nice enough at the picnic. Quiet, but nice.”

She was clearly making a point not to mention the incident with Dean, for which Harry was profoundly gratefully.

“They’ve changed a lot,” Hermione murmured, and Ron looked over at her with a carefully neutral expression. “Those three are the only eighth year Slytherins left, did you know? The rest are either dead or gone.” She straightened, and added conversationally, “Not to mention how the younger students have been treated. We’ve had to take them under our wings, so to speak.”

Harry nodded, supporting her. “There have been a lot of incidents that have gotten downright violent with the younger Slytherins. They’re not causing problems, but the other students target them more than just teasing or school-yard bullying, whether they were a part of the war or not. I know of at least three incidences where one of them got seriously hurt,” Harry added, grimacing at the thought. His mind flashed to the mental image of Pansy unconsciously pressing the pad of her finger to a boil scar.

To the side, he could see both of the Patil twins nod, Parvati with a guilty look on her face and Padma with a sad frown.

He was prepared for a mild form of malicious glee from Ron. He was prepared for disinterest.

He wasn’t prepared for Ron’s neutral expression to finally twist into an almost _angry_ frown. “I’m glad you guys are helping them out, then.” Seamus’ mouth popped open. Then, just when Harry was wondering where his real best friend had gone – “I mean, I’m glad it’s not me. But I’m glad you’re doing it.”

“Thanks, Ron. Your approval means a lot,” Hermione deadpanned, and the tension eased at once. Harry could hear Dean laughing to himself. He kind of wanted to laugh with him.

 

Harry stayed in the Gryffindor commons for the rest of the afternoon. It was the most time he’d spent in his old home since Draco had presented, and to his surprise, he was actually looking forward to going back to his rooms with Draco instead of dreading it. By the time dinner rolled around, he was looking forward to relaxing in front of the fire with food and his friend. It wasn’t that he didn’t still love his Gryffindors – his family – but he’d gotten used to a certain sort of evening.

Ron threw an arm around his shoulders when Harry started making his way toward the portrait hole. He walked him over to the exit and, when they took a moment to pause there awkwardly, sighed heavily before pulling away to face him.

“Hermione told me to be nice about you and Malfoy buddying up,” he said without preamble. There was an exaggerated twist to his mouth. “And I just thought I’d say – without being told, might I add; this is all me – that I’m not going to be a prick about it.” He gripped Harry’s shoulders. “Look deep into my eyes, mate, and know I’m telling the truth.”

Harry laughed, surprised, and threw him off. “Fuck off,” he chuckled.

Ron grinned. “I just want to make sure you know you don’t have to tiptoe around the subject. I don’t like _him_ but I like you well enough and I trust your judgement. Just don’t bring him around the family quite yet.”

The reminder that Ron wasn’t the only hurdle made Harry’s smile drop. He paused, then actually met Ron’s eyes. “You don’t… you won’t hate me, for being friends with him? Or more? After his being involved with the Death Eaters and stuff? Because Hermione said something about… about him being involved and indirectly getting Bill hurt and sorts of other things.” He very carefully didn’t mention Fred.

Ron didn’t seem to have heard him. Instead, he was staring at Harry in stark horror. “ _Or more_? Tell me you aren’t planning on sleeping with the little git?” he hissed, jabbing a finger into Harry’s chest. Harry flushed and glanced over at the rest of the group, who were chattering among themselves and (hopefully) not listening. “Bad plan! Bad, stupid plan! Bloody _hell_ , that’s _gross_.” He made a face, far more exaggerated than the last – but the bewilderment was real.

“I know you don’t get it,” Harry sighed. “But it works, Ron. Me and him. It’s not a for sure thing, but I know he’s interested, and I really care about him – I can explain in depth later, because there’s a lot more going on. I just don’t want to lose you as a friend because of my thing with him.”

Ron took a deep breath. He let it out and when he met Harry’s eyes again all the humor was gone from his expression. “I won’t pretend to like him. And if I’m being honest, the fact that he was a Death Eater – that he let those bastards into the school – _does_ piss me off. I fucking hate him and I always have.” He rocked gently back and then forward again. “But you’re my best mate and I know that Malfoy isn’t actually evil. He got involved in some bad shit due to a lot of extenuating circumstances and – quit looking at me like that, I’m an actual grown up professional now; I can use big words –“ He glared at Harry. “My point is, I know he’s not actually _evil_. There’s a lot of shit I haven’t forgiven him for but I don’t think you’re consorting with the antichrist or anything.”

“So… in summary…”

Ron rolled his eyes. “We’re still friends, you dumbarse. I just don’t want anything to do with your shitty boyfriend.”

Harry smiled weakly at him and when Ron went in for a hug he let the conversation end there.

“You’re coming back to hang out tomorrow, right?” Ron asked when he pulled away. “I was thinking we could go down to Hogsmeade, say hi to Rosmerta.”

“Sounds good.”

He slipped out the portrait hole and headed back to their rooms for dinner, muttering _deus ex machina_ when he got close enough to the portrait. Geraint nodded hello before swinging the frame open.

Something unknotted in his chest when he saw Draco there, slowly flipping through one of his books. His hands were shaking slightly and he looked ready to pass out, but he didn’t look upset. Just pensive, like he’d been doing a lot of thinking.

“Hey,” Harry offered in greeting, and Draco looked up, a wan smile on his face. “I see dinner’s already laid out.”

“It’s only been there for a couple minutes,” Draco confirmed. “You got here right in time. Would you make me a plate?”

He did so without complaint, piling food on two plates and carrying them over to the couch. He settled on the end closest to Draco’s armchair, and handed Draco his plate. Draco gave him a grateful smile, setting his book aside to grab the plate. “How was your date with the Gryffindors?” he asked. It had the air of awkward small talk, but he couldn’t even really feel awkward about it because he was just so _damn glad_ to be back. He wondered what it said about him that he could actually reach a point where he was tired of being around all his friends because he wanted to be with a mouthy blonde instead. Unthinkable.

“It was good,” he answered, and instead of letting the awkward continue he relaxed. His smile felt warm, even to him. “I missed Ron a lot. I don’t think we ever really got the chance to sit around and spend time together without things hanging over our heads, you know?”

Draco nodded. His head bobbed a little bit lower than usual, as though it was difficult to lift his head again. “I know how you feel. It’s like once the war ended we all just realized that we can be kids for the first time in our lives.”

Harry sighed to himself, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Kind of sad, kind of wistful.

The rest of the evening was uneventful, but Harry didn’t mind. He’d spent plenty of nights with Draco just chatting softly out of habit, even though it was only them in the room, and now it was only familiar and comforting.

It was hard to ignore Draco’s weariness, though, especially knowing that he wouldn’t let Harry help him. A comforting touch or two was fine, and a gentle peck whenever he felt his anxiety getting bad, but to actually fix his sleeping problem they would need to lay together and Draco refused to get that intimate.

He didn’t want to push him, but he also couldn’t handle seeing Draco’s wavering fingers and bowing head. He couldn’t stand staying away.

When they crawled into their respective beds that night, Harry lasted no more than an hour before he slid out from under his covers and padded across the floor. He didn’t wait, or ask, before sliding under Draco’s sheets.

He didn’t try to hold him, but he did curl up with his forehead pressed against the back of Draco’s head. Blonde hair tickled his nose.

“You know all I want is for you to be alright,” he whispered quietly against the nape of Draco’s neck, and tried very hard to ignore how much he wanted him. “And you’re not.”

“I’m okay,” Draco whispered back, gentle and almost broken. He’d never seemed so fragile. “It’s not your job to fix me.”

“But I want to.”

Draco gave a deep sigh and shifted so that he was laying on his back. His hand came up to smooth Harry’s wild hair down in the darkness, without rhyme or reason but with gentle touches that soothed Harry regardless of its purpose. He entertained the idea of teasing Draco for his grooming instincts for nearly half a second, and then sighed as if to echo the other man and settled in.

They slept.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant for more to happen in this chapter, but it's already 3600 words and I had a whole other scene to write... not to mention that this chapter is already two or three months late. So I decided to update this and put the last half up as a separate chapter. Hopefully that should be done in a couple days and you'll get another update!
> 
> In other news, this chapter is more heavy H/D content so it should be satisfying to everyone. Lots of relationship development!

Harry woke in increments. He was warm and surrounded by a sweet scent, something natural and light but utterly inescapable. It was everywhere, all around him – but he didn’t want to pull away. He shifted, trying to get closer, and pressed his cheek against a head of soft hair. He sighed contentedly and tried to go back to sleep.

 _Fuck_.

His body stiffened before he fully realized what was going on. Without opening his eyes, he took stock. He’d gone to Draco’s bed the night before. Check. There was an arm around his waist and a head nestled against his shoulder. Check. He was cuddling with Draco Malfoy. _Check._

Draco was waking up? Check.

Harry stayed still, praying that Draco didn’t get angry about the cuddling. Draco had been so good about keeping his distance lately, but in their sleep they’d gravitated near each other naturally. As Draco stirred, his allure stirred as well, making Harry keep a much more conscious mind on where his limbs were. He felt as though he were hyperaware of every place they touched skin-to-skin – where Draco’s nose pressed into his shoulder, where his hand was tucked just under his shirt, over his side. Draco’s soft, downy wings covered them both nearly head to toe - yet Harry wasn’t too hot, or too cold. He was just… comfortable.

Draco made a questioning sound, and then sighed heavily like he was disappointed but unsurprised. Unlike Harry, he didn’t stiffen at all as he came awake. He didn’t even move away. “Morning,” he said quietly.

Slowly, Harry relaxed, and let the hand casually resting on Draco’s arm begin a gentle sweep up and down without him meaning to do so. The back of his knuckles brushed the arc of one wing with every pass. “Morning,” he murmured back. He hadn’t thought about it while he was panicking about Draco’s reaction, but there was something truly peaceful about being wrapped up in each other the way they were. Draco pressed his face into Harry's shoulder. “You don’t seem very surprised about this,” he noted cautiously. Draco just shrugged awkwardly against Harry’s body.

“I always want to touch you,” Draco admitted, half-ashamed and half-resigned. Harry didn’t know how he felt about Draco being _resigned_ about having feelings for him. “This is partially why I didn’t want to do this before, even if it would make me feel better to get some sleep. I was afraid we’d wake up like this and I’d want you more than I already do.”

Harry swallowed. Was Draco lowering his guard or was he just half-asleep, saying things he didn’t mean to? “Do you?”

Draco breathed out. He pressed his nose hard against Harry’s shoulder, who had to close his eyes for a moment and focus on not touching Draco more than he already was. Since they were already close and half-asleep, the allure wasn’t pulling at him quite so strongly as it usually did, but it was still strong enough to make him want to touch skin, to do what Draco _already was_ and slip his hand underneath Draco’s shirt. It seemed even stronger than usual, though Harry didn’t say anything about it.

“This is nice,” Draco murmured instead of properly responding. He sounded as if the fact made him sad.

“Is it?” Harry asked instead, his eyes still closed. “You rather sound like it’s some kind of punishment.”

He wasn’t trying to start a fight – really, he wasn’t, but he felt like he was being rubbed raw. Even worse was that he _knew_ it wasn’t Draco’s fault. It wasn’t his fault – it was nobody’s fault. Hell, Draco was probably just as wounded by the whole thing as he was. After all, it took two to tango. It was both of their messy, complicated feelings that got them into this mess, but Harry hadn’t the foggiest idea of how to get them out.

Draco sat up, propped up on his other arm. His hand slipped out from under Harry’s shirt, and for a minute he sat there looking very tired. Not the perpetual physical exhaustion that came with forgoing sleep for weeks (though he definitely appeared as though he could use another day or four of rest), but the sort of mental exhaustion that came from fighting yourself and a situation until you couldn’t anymore.

“You scare me, Harry Potter,” he said, as if that answered anything. “You always have.” Then, as if resigned, he leaned down and kissed Harry lightly. It lasted perhaps two seconds, a soft, delicious press of a pink mouth that made his whole body come alive, before Draco pulled away. Harry sighed shakily when he did, the allure curled in his gut like arousal.

“I don’t want to scare you,” Harry told him once he’d managed to get himself in control again, finally reaching out to take Draco’s free hand in his. The gesture felt… soft. Strangely soft, for them, though Harry was self-aware enough to realize that his feelings for Draco Malfoy had been soft for a very long time now.

“I know you don’t,” Draco told him with a half-grin. “That’s why you do.” He looked down at their entwined fingers. Behind him, his wings arched comfortingly, shielding them from the rest of the room. “You know I’ve never been in a relationship? And yet somehow, I have these instincts that tell me I should just… give in and settle down with you. Can you imagine? It feels like an arranged marriage. It’s suffocating, but it’s also… it’s difficult, because I feel for you the way I do. Because I do sort of want it.”

Harry nodded, his thumb rubbing over the back of Draco’s hand. He was almost entirely distracted by their closeness – the more awake Draco was, the stronger his allure got, and it didn’t help that there was a layer of intimacy that had never been between them before.

The only thing that kept him from giving in was the voice in his head saying that Draco was unhappy. Harry didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but this closeness felt like resignation. Like Draco had decided that even if he wasn’t ready, he might as well give in to the inevitable. It left a pit in his stomach.

And yet, in spite of his feelings for Draco - or maybe because of them - Harry _did_ understand what he was saying. He continued to lie there, unsure of how to responds, looking up at Draco, who still sat beside him. “I don’t have the instincts you do…” he began slowly. “But I do understand, at least a little. I hadn’t expected to like you as much as I do, and I’ve never had a relationship that was really… serious. Not forever serious. You and me, we could be, but it’s also frightening to say that now, when we’re so young.”

Draco nodded. “So you know that I’m not standoffish because of you.” As much as Harry ached, he had to agree. He did know. When he nodded, Draco gave him that soft little smile again. “It’s not about the idea of you, but the idea of forever. So don’t… please don’t hate me, for trying to keep some distance. Even if… I’m apparently not very good at it.” He added the last part gently - softly, as if saying it quieter would hide his vulnerability. As if by impulse, contrasting his words, Draco’s hand gripped his own tighter for a mere moment.

“I don’t hate you,” Harry said with a sigh. “Not sure I could.” Finally, he sat up and pulled his hand free, knowing that Draco needed him to. “We have meetings today.”

Draco let him change the subject with no fanfare. “Yeah. I need to finish a thing or two before we go.” He slipped out of bed, hiking his shirt up to scratch at his stomach, and then they went about their business separately, at least for a little bit.

Draco finished up an essay for Slughorn while they ate in silence, but the quiet was companionable. Draco wasn’t angry with him or standoffish - and he wasn’t falling over from exhaustion any longer, which was a significant improvement to his mood. Afterward, while Draco got ready to go to their first meeting, he seemed to even be recovered enough that putting on the glamour was easy and reflexive, the way it should be. His magic wasn’t shaky or out of control anymore - physically, he was doing much better.

One thing that _wasn’t_ improving was the allure. Harry supposed he was at an advantage, because he had so much experience resisting it, but even he was being worn thin by its constant pressure. He had to mind it constantly, or he found himself pressing against Draco’s back with his face in the blonde hairs at the nape of Draco’s neck. It was driving him crazy. He knew it wasn’t Draco’s fault - neither of them knew why the allure was getting so much stronger - but it didn’t exactly make it less overwhelming. Draco would be halfway to crooning back before one of them managed to wise up, and it made their intimacy that much harder to bear

It wasn’t the only problem, they quickly realized when they set out. Once in the hallway, Draco seemed okay, but by the time they were nearing the chattering groups of students, he’d begun to tense at Harry’s side. His allure was practically suffocating, and people were taking notice. Harry watched in horror as three of the closest students - and one a few feet further back who was particularly susceptible - stopped entirely, staring at Draco with half-vacant expressions.

“Fuck, Draco,” Harry hissed. “Dial it back.”

“I can’t,” Draco snapped back, but his eyebrows were furrowed in worry. His shoulders tightened, his jaw strained - Harry realized he was watching Draco put every fiber of his being into attempting to draw his allure back, and he was watching him fail. Draco looked near panicked. “I literally can’t.”

“We should wait until the halls empty,” Harry said, without hesitation. They hadn’t caught this much attention in a long while, and he wasn’t about to risk getting mobbed.

“We’ll be late for Slughorn,” Draco hissed, but Harry just rolled his eyes.

“It’s not like Slughorn is Snape. He won’t care if we’re ten minutes late,” he pointed out. Draco’s mouth pinched in a startlingly McGonagall-like way. “I know you don’t like having to do this, but if you can’t pull the allure back right now, we shouldn’t push it.”

Draco glared at the crowds. As if in response to his attention, a fourth-year Slytherin who’d stopped in the hall stepped forward. Draco zeroed in on her when she moved, and to both of their horror, her mouth dropped open in awe when she met his eyes.

“Draco,” she managed to choke out, and she came several steps closer, hand outreached as if to grab at his sleeve. Suddenly sick-looking, Draco yanked away, stepping closer to Harry. As if reflexively, he grabbed at Harry’s bare forearm, and all of a sudden the allure snapped back into place - still heavy, and pointed now that he and Draco were touching, but the Slytherin jerked back as if she’d been slapped. Before Harry could say anything, she winced.

“Shit,” she said, bewildered. “Sorry, Malfoy. Don’t know what came over me.”

Draco blinked at her in confusion. At his side, Harry resisted the urge to press his nose to Draco’s jaw. It was a very nice jaw, after all, but part of him acknowledged idly that it wasn’t the time or the place. “Er. That’s alright, Desiree. You seem… better now.” He looked at Harry, eyebrows arched high. “Did my allure disappear or something?” He concentrated, frowning as he examined his own magic, but Harry didn’t have to wait for a response.

“No,” he disagreed. “It’s… it’s still here.” He could feel it tickling at his skin, trying to draw his attention away. Without quite agreeing to do it, he leaned into Draco.

“I can feel it, too,” Desiree answered. “But when you touched Potter it kind of backed off?”

“Definitely not,” Harry said, frowning. “It’s not any weaker than it was a couple minutes ago. I can _feel_ it.”

Desiree looked between them with a raised eyebrow. “So it’s only affecting you now?” She peered curiously at Draco. “You’re still lovely, don’t get me wrong, but I definitely was two seconds away from jumping you a moment ago and now it’s more like a vague reminder that you’re pretty whenever my thoughts get too off topic.”

“It’s focused on me,” Harry summarized, the realization sweeping over him, and Draco looked over at him with a deepening frown on his face. “I think… I think it’s trying to pull _me_ in. So when you grabbed my arm, it went back down to normal levels, because it got my attention.”

Draco’s eyes closed briefly. “Desiree, some privacy. It was lovely to see you. Taa, now.”

She rolled her eyes, hiking her bag up onto her shoulder. “Taa, Draco.” It was half sarcastic. Then, with a sly grin that said everyone would know about this by noon, she added, “Have fun with your boyfriend!” She flounced off, and Harry let Draco pull him far enough back into the hallway that the remaining students who had stopped to stare at him finally broke eye contact and wandered where they’d been going in the first place.

Draco looked at him, still holding onto his arm even though they were more secluded and now facing each other. He still looked pinched. “You think it’s pulling you in specifically,” Draco said flatly. He didn’t deny it, but he also didn’t look like he was going to confirm or deny until Harry explained his reasoning.

“Well, considering the courting bond… it would make sense.” When Draco’s pinched look got worse, he instinctively twisted out of Draco’s grip so that he could run his hands soothingly over Draco’s upper arms. “This might be a pro instead of a con,” Harry said gently, and when Draco squinted at him in confusion. “Think about it. If the allure is focused on me - and I can focus around it - then so long as we touch in the halls, we can get around a lot easier.”

Draco took a deep breath, and said “You just want to hold my hand, you keen bastard,” in a carefully casual tease. Harry gave him a relieved grin.

“Whatever you’ve gotta tell yourself, dear,” he answered, just as nonchalant, and Draco managed a shaky grin, already looking a little less peaky.

Draco sighed, finally relaxing. “That makes it easier on my instincts, too,” he admitted. “I don’t like the idea of other people touching you. Holding onto you myself will make it a little easier to keep myself calm.”

“You don’t like them touching me like you haven’t liked them touching me for weeks?” Harry asked carefully. “Or is it worse?”

Draco squinted over at him, clearly not a fan of the question. He was quiet for a moment, debating if he wanted to tell the truth or not, and then sighed. “Not worse, really. Just different. I don’t know how to explain it… it’s scent, mostly. Everyone smells so strongly right now for some reason, and I feel as though if anyone got their scent on you I’d lose it.” He grimaced, knowing exactly how that sounded.

“This is a weird marking thing, isn’t it?” Harry deadpanned, and Draco’s grimace pulled the corners of his mouth even further downward. When Draco went to move away from him, however, clearly uncomfortable, Harry automatically went back to running his hands over Draco’s upper arms to comfort him. “I’m not judging you, or mad,” he said softly, and Draco gave him a very flat expression but stopped trying to put distance between them. “Weird was bad word choice. It’s not weird. Listen to your instincts.”

Narrowing his eyes, Draco said, “Even if my instincts say to rip out the intestines of anyone who puts their hand on you?”

“I said listen to them, not let them dictate your actions,” Harry replied affably. He couldn’t help an amused twitch of his mouth when Draco rolled his eyes and looked away to where the crowd of passing students began to trickle and disperse. “Seriously, are you okay?”

Draco looked back over at him and deflated, finally letting himself relax again. “I’m fine,” he sighed. “Just my instincts. They’re probably just settling after last night. Don’t worry about it.”

Harry knew better than to push it. The halls had mostly cleared anyway, and so he led them toward Slughorn’s office without any further ado.

The rest of the day went as smoothly as it could, even though Draco kept his hand loosely wrapped around Harry’s wrist everywhere they went and it wreaked havoc on Harry’s supposed ability to control himself. At least three different times their fingers tangled together only for Draco to realize they were holding hands and stiffly rearrange the way he held onto Harry’s arm.

He’d also gotten nauseated by the strong smells in the potions lab, which was concerning, but Draco had kept his composure for exactly as long as he had to before forcing Harry out the door as quickly as possible.

Harry couldn’t believe that they were so close to the end of the semester. Two months and they’d be going home… and they’d be adults. He quite firmly put the fact that Draco would be cutting off contact with him out of his mind.

“Are you sure you’re okay if I go out with Ron?” he asked once they were safely sequestered in their rooms again after their last meeting. “You’re been off all day.”

Draco, wings ruffling, just glared at him. He sat himself down in his armchair with more force than necessary. He made a face and shifted, making Harry wonder if his sense of touch was heightened as well, but Draco didn’t give him time to dwell on it. “We had this conversation yesterday,” he said flatly. “Go on – spend time with your friend.”

“Yesterday you weren’t getting sick because of how strong the potions lab smelled,” Harry pointed out.

Now that they weren’t touching, the allure was ramping up again, but Harry just blinked and locked his jaw to avoid saying anything stupid about how beautiful Draco looked in the fire-light.

“I wasn’t _sick_ ,” Draco snorted. “It’s just that you don’t realize how bad a dirty cauldron smells until you’re hypersensitive to scents. Or, god, bubotuber puss.” He shuddered. “Once my instincts calm down I can probably figure out how to control it like the glamour and allure… or, how I _should_ be able to control my allure.”

Harry sighed and unlatched his trunk to pull out his hat and scarf. His jacket was hung up by the portrait. “If I get back and you’re worse, we’re going to Pomphrey. No arguments from you over it, either.”

Draco gave him a half-smile. “Sure, worry-wart. Whatever you say.” Then, he bit his lip and examined Harry’s profile for a minute. “Before you go.”

Harry paused, still pulling his scarf out from his trunk. “Yeah?”

There was a light blush on his cheeks, but his expression was dry if anything. “The anxiety.” Then he wrung his hands a little. “It’d help if you…” His eyes went up to the ceiling. Harry’s mind called up a memory from that morning of Draco kissing him gently and a surge of hope shot through him. Shouldn’t Draco already have been okay? They’d been so intimate all day… but instead of questioning it, Harry just gave him a nervous half smile and pulled his scarf the rest of the way free. He walked over as calmly as possible and waited until Draco looked at him with his wide, cautious grey eyes. Then, he settled a hand on his jaw, steeled himself against the allure that swallowed him like a warm cloud, and kissed Draco.

Though he knew he probably should have, he didn’t pull away immediately – he let Draco open his mouth to nip at his lower lip, and didn’t question how uncharacteristic that was considering Draco’s stance on their bond. It was just a kiss ( _just a kiss, just a kiss, just a kiss_ ) but he felt entirely content and wasn’t convinced it was just the allure making him think so. Touching Draco was usually euphoric, but it felt like more than that.

Regardless of what Draco’s allure was telling them both, Harry knew Draco would be upset if he let it go any further. Draco’s tongue swiped gently over the lip he’d just bitten, and with a sigh he pulled away.

Draco’s eyes were glowing silver from under his half-lowered eyelids.

“Feeling better now?” he asked softly, and Draco nodded.

“Have fun with Weasley,” he said, and there was something distant in his voice, like he was already reliving the past minute in his mind.

“I’ll see you later,” Harry said instead of calling him out on it, and Draco nodded. He visibly shook himself a little, but the preoccupied look on his face didn’t leave. His eyes tracked Harry as he moved away, and judging by the light frustration in his expression he couldn’t quite control it.

Harry barely caught a glimpse of Draco’s talons digging into the arms of his chair before Sir Geraint’s portrait shut behind him.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. The explicit rating starts coming into play here, as a warning. Also, I hadn't realized how much I loved writing Ron and Harry's friendship?

When Harry met Ron in the Great Hall several minutes later, his mouth was still tingling, but he managed to school his expression to not entirely give away the fact that his head was full of Draco. Ron was being surprisingly calm about their sort-of-not-really-possibly relationship, and Harry had no intentions of changing that.

“Is it just you and me, then?” he asked, going forward with a little wave. Ron grinned at him and shrugged. He was wearing new robes – they were lighter than winter robes but still insulated, and he had a soft-looking heather grey scarf looped around his neck. It was almost strange to see him in such nice clothing, but unlike Harry, Ron had never been satisfied with his hand-me-downs, so it made sense that he’d use his new salary to replace his wardrobe. Hell, Harry hadn’t even really cared and _he’d_ gotten new clothes the second the war ended and he realized he could start living his life properly. It was just a strange reminder that they were adults, that they weren’t the same kids stuck in the circumstances they’d been born into.

“Herm is helping Seamus and Dean with something Transfiguration related,” Ron answered, drawing Harry out of his thoughts. “Neville has plans with Professor Sprout, as usual, and the twins had some sort of study group.” That pretty much took every Gryffindor in their year out.

“I’m not going to complain,” Harry said, letting some of the stress fall off his shoulders. “It’s been a while since you and me got to spend time together alone.”

Ron nodded affably, throwing an arm over his shoulders as he led them outside, toward Hogsmeade. “I missed going on dates with you, too, mate,” Ron told him solemnly, and Harry rolled his eyes. He pushed Ron away and grinned while Ron laughed.

“Take the piss all you want, but I really have missed you.”

Ron softened, the tease going out of his expression until he was smiling as warmly as Harry was. “I missed you, too. It’s weird not to be sharing a room or going to classes together all the time, you know? Sometimes I turn around and just expect you to be there.”

Harry nodded. “I do know.” That’s what living in each other’s pockets for so long does to people.

They chatted as they walked down to Hogsmeade, taking advantage of the nice weather and just wandering along the path. Ron had apparently left out a lot of nitty gritty details out of his auror stories, and as they walked he filled Harry in on specifics. It was nice to hear Ron so enthusiastic about it, honestly, because in school Ron had been rather aimless. They both had been, really, and it had bothered Hermione more than she’d ever been willing to admit. They’d decided to become aurors together because it seemed like the thing to do, and still mucked about in classes like it was nothing more than an elaborate daydream. Ron now, though – he seemed to love the work, and he was good at it, if his stories from training were any indication. Harry didn’t doubt it at all, and he loved hearing Ron’s excited monologues even if just because Ron was just so enthusiastic about it.

As they neared the village, though, Ron got a little quieter. They walked in silence for a while before Ron cocked his head and looked over at Harry with an expression that wasn’t quite disappointment and not quite confusion. It was somewhere in the middle.

“I always thought we’d do this together, you know. Funny.”

Harry winced, looking down at his boots. “I don’t think it would have gone the way you’d wanted it to even if I had joined you at the auror academy, mate.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his own robes to avoid looking at Ron’s expression.

“What do you mean?” Ron asked, and Harry took in a deep breath.

He’d always known that Ron had been hurt by his decision not to become an auror with him – they’d decided that they’d wanted to in fifth or sixth year, and while Harry had gotten less enthusiastic about it as the war went on, Ron had only gotten more so. That was a good thing, honestly; Harry was happy that Ron had found purpose and meaning and all that rot, but Harry couldn’t see himself joining Ron.

Well. That was inaccurate – he _could_ see himself joining Ron, and he would overwork himself and take on a lot of responsibility that he didn’t want to, and by forty he’d be respectable and probably good at his job but ultimately tired and unhappy with his life. He would convince himself that he was doing the work for the greater good, and he’d certainly help people… but Harry had never wanted to be a soldier. A lot of people assumed that he’d go straight into the auror corps after the war, and maybe there was a reason for that, but Harry had never wanted that life for himself.

Harry took a deep breath and gave Ron a sad sort of smile. “You’re… you’re really good at what you’re doing, you know that? You care a lot about it and I’m really glad that it’s going well for you. But if I’d joined with you, I’m not sure I’d be as enthusiastic about it as you are.”

“You’d be great at it, too,” Ron insisted. “If it’s that you don’t think you’d be good at it…”

Harry shook his head. “It’s not that – I just wouldn’t enjoy it. I’d do it because I would think I had to, because I wouldn’t think I’d be able to do well at anything else, like fighting is all I’m good at. And I never wanted to fight in the first place. I want to help in other ways, and I think Healing is good for that. The Aurors… maybe I would have been good at it, but it never would have made me feel the way you do about it.”

Ron swallowed. “You think Healing would?”

“I really like the idea of being there to help people feel better,” he said with an overly casual shrug. “I know everyone thinks I’m not really smart enough for it, but I’ve been studying loads this year, and I think, if I try…” He let out a huff of air, and Ron sighed.

“Of course you’re smart enough for it,” Ron said. They came to a stop outside of the Three Broomsticks, and Ron kicked a few pebbles. “I just always thought it’d be you and me, you know? We’d go in and be great aurors, and in twenty years we’ll be the best in the department and we’ll save lives and be badasses.”

Harry smiled at him, a little ruefully. “That’s the thing – I never wanted to be a badass. I just wanted to be Harry.” He reached out and put a hand on Ron’s shoulder. “We’ll still go out and save lives and be best friends. We’ll just do it in different buildings. You save lives, and send them to me to get fixed up. Dream team, just like always.”

Ron brightened a little, smiling in spite of himself. “And then we’ll both go home to have dinner with Hermione.”

“I love how you’re assuming that I’m going to third wheel your relationship for the rest of our lives,” Harry snorted, rolling his eyes, and Ron’s small smile turned back into a full grin. “Are we good, though? I know this has been bothering you. I feel shit that I’ve upset you.”

Ron shook his head. “Nah – you shouldn’t feel shit for doing what you want to do. You deserve to make your own choices. If Healing is what you want to do, and it makes you feel like you’re doing as much good as I feel like I am in the aurors, then you should definitely do it. It just sucks that we won’t be working together.”

Harry smiled fondly at him. He’d honestly expected a bigger blowout when they’d finally talked about this, but instead Harry was surprisingly comforted by Ron’s faith in him and his support. “I don’t suppose you’ll want to join me at St Mungo’s,” he teased, and Ron snorted.

“Absolutely not,” Ron confirmed. “You can be the smart, intellectual one of the two of us; that’s fine by me.” He nodded toward the pub. “Let’s go in, yeah? Say hi to Rosmerta.”

Harry nodded and let Ron lead him into the Three Broomsticks.

The pub was nearly empty, with the exception of an older couple in a secluded corner and Rosmerta herself, who gave them both smiles as they stepped forward.

“Hello, loves,” she greeted them cheerfully. She looked the same as always – lovely blonde curls, rosy cheeks. In spite of everything, she seemed to be doing okay, and Harry smiled back. “Haven’t seen either of you around recently.”

“I didn’t come back this year,” Ron told her with a shrug. Harry didn’t call him out for the way he stood with his hands in his pockets, carefully casual. Harry knew he’d never cheat on Hermione, but Rosmerta was an old crush and Ron wanting to impress her really wasn’t surprising at all. He did the same thing when Fleur came to visit with Bill. To be honest, it was kind of a laugh, but Harry made an effort not to actual chuckle at him.

“Oh?” Rosmerta had a little smirk on her face, but it wasn’t malicious – just knowing and a little amused. Ron wasn’t the first boy to come back and try to impress her with broad shoulders and a shiny new adult job, and he wouldn’t be the last. “What’re you doing now, then?”

“I joined the aurors,” he answered, proudly, and for a moment the airs dropped and he went back to just being Ron. Rosmerta’s smirk gentled and she pulled out a couple glasses.

“You enjoying it?” she asked, filling one up with Butterbeer and sliding it across the bar to him. She filled the other and passed it to Harry, who nodded his thanks.

“Loving it,” he said, grinning. “Found my calling and all that.”

She nodded, then turned to Harry. “What about you? I know you’re finishing your last year at school, but are you joining the aurors, too?”

He shook his head, sliding onto a barstool. “I’m planning to intern at St Mungo’s,” he told her, a little more confidently than he probably would have before talking with Ron. “I’d rather be a healer than a fighter.”

Rosmerta’s smile was warm. “I’m sure you’ll do well at it. Now, why haven’t I seen you round lately? You haven’t been in properly since Christmas.” She set her cleaning rag down, content to just stand and chat.

Harry winced. He hadn’t planned on bringing up Draco, but he also felt like not telling her would be rude, or like he was carrying on with false pretenses.

“What, is bird boy too good for the Broomsticks?” Ron snorted, and Harry’s wince deepened. “That Malfoy, honestly. Little priss.” Rosmerta blinked, her smile slipping for a second before she schooled her expression and forced it back up.

“Draco presented as a veela and I was asked to watch over him,” he explained carefully when Rosmerta looked to Harry for clarification. “To make sure he doesn’t get hurt and can finish the year out here at Hogwarts. We spend a lot of time indoors, you know, to avoid getting entire crowds veela-struck.” He tried to sound as casual as possible, but the look he and Rosmerta shared told him that she understood perfectly well what he was leaving unsaid. He knew, and she knew he knew, and they were all trying to be as respectful about it as possible.

Rosmerta took a deep breath. Then she let it out again and visibly forced herself to relax. “He’s lucky to have a bloke like you looking out for him,” was as she said, and Harry nodded, taking the comment for what it was. He didn’t want to continue to the conversation either, and he was sure she wasn’t angry with him, so he didn’t feel the need to do so.  

Ron drank his butterbeer with a raised eyebrow, unaware of the deeper current beneath their cautiously chosen words. Harry didn’t plan to explain it to him; it wasn’t his story to tell.

“We’re gonna go get a table, yeah?” Harry told her, nodding. He nudged Ron, who nodded as well and raised his mug in her direction.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Rosmerta told them, back to friendly. It seemed genuine, and Harry grinned at her warmly before they walked away.

“That was tense,” Ron commented, giving Harry a look, but Harry just shrugged, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “You gonna tell me what that was about?”

“Not my business, really,” Harry said. “And I’m not going to be the person airing Draco’s business everywhere.”

Ron shrugged. “Fair enough, I guess.” He took a long drink from his mug, and then sighed. “So, how are you two doing? Hermione told me a little bit about the bond and all that, but…”

Harry smiled a little, shaking his head and leaning back in his chair. “I don’t even know. I mean, we’re good – we’re not fighting or anything, but the running plan is to do what we have to until the end of the semester and then break contact for a while so the bond will weaken.”

Ron squinted at him. “He doesn’t want to date you? I thought you said you thought it was mutual?”

“It’s mutual,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “The bond wouldn’t exist if the feelings weren’t mutual. It’s just that a bond is a lot of commitment, innit? And Draco isn’t sure he’s ready for it.” He paused, and then admitted, “Dunno know if I am, either, but I like him a lot. It makes me want to make hasty decisions.” He winced, self-deprecating, but Ron just hummed thoughtfully.  

“Surprisingly mature of him,” Ron said after a minute of silence. He sounded almost grudging about that. “Maybe that is for the best. I mean, proximity and all that… what if you just feel this way because you’re around him all the time?”

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. “Don’t think I don’t hear how hopeful you sound,” he deadpanned, and Ron shrugged uncaringly. “Look, I’m not saying I’m in love with him. Not yet. But I _do_ care about him, and I think he’s a better person than most people give him credit for, and he’s trying to be - and I… I want to be with him.” He quieted, realizing that his voice was raising. He looked at Ron, and said, “I know you don’t like him, and I’m not asking you to. I know that I don’t have any right to ask you to forgive him for anything he’s done. I get that; I’m not trying to convince you. I just don’t know how to explain this.”

“I don’t think _anyone_ can really explain why they fall for someone,” Ron snorted, surprisingly affably considering the topic. When Harry opened his mouth, ready to argue, Ron cut him off. “If you try and tell me you’re not half in love with him already you’re a bloody liar, Potter. Don’t forget that I know you.” It was good-natured, but Harry couldn’t laugh with him because he was _right_. Ron softened. “I hate that it’s Malfoy, but you deserve good shit. If he’s good for you, then I hope it works out.”

“You just would also like it if I didn’t bring him around ever.”

“Exactly,” Ron laughed, and Harry finally cracked a grin with him.

They stayed for a couple hours, just chatting and laughing and occasionally refilling their mugs of Butterbeer. It was nice to just sit around with Ron after months of only seeing him every now-and-again.

Eventually, though, they had to trudge back up to the castle, and they paid their tab with Rosmerta and made their way back outside. It had gotten cooler as the sun had begun to go down and made Harry glad he’d grabbed his scarf before he’d left. They talked a bit more as they walked, but the conversation had comfortably winded down by the time they parted on the fourth floor.

“Am I going to see you before I head off tomorrow?” Ron asked, and Harry did a mental review of his schedule.

“Should, yeah. You’re leaving around eight, right?” Ron nodded. “Yeah, that’s way before any of our meetings, so I’ll come up to the Tower around seven or seven thirty.”

“Excellent,” Ron said, giving him two thumbs up. It made him snort fondly, and they parted.

He was still chuckling to himself when he approached Geraint, who looked down at him with an unreadable expression.

“Best prepare yourself,” Geraint said, without any of the usual smiles, and Harry’s chuckles died down. He looked up at Geraint and swallowed. Strange, how worry crept up his throat before he even had a chance to think about what could possibly be wrong.

“Deux ex machina?” he said, the confusion turning it into a question, and when the portrait swung upon, he stepped through cautiously.  

Draco’s allure was a fucking _bomb_. The second the portrait shut behind him, he was hit with it so hard he stumbled – it was worse than the days after the picnic, when Pansy’d had to come stay with him, and worse than the past few days. He hadn’t thought it could get worse, but this, whatever this was, was intoxicating and suffocating and Harry couldn’t think. He just couldn’t think. All he could do was step forward, desperately searching for the source that was screaming at him to come _closer_.

The source was Draco – would always be Draco. Draco, who was splayed across Harry’s bed for a reason that would make sense later but in the moment was only dizzying and confusing. There was a long moment before Draco realized he was there that Harry just watched him, dumbfounded and inexplicably aroused, as he buried his face into one of Harry’s pillows and jerked himself off with agonizing slowness. His hand was shoved into pajama bottoms he must have put on sometime after Harry left, so he couldn’t _see_ anything Draco would kill him for later, but there wasn’t much left to the imagination.

He knew, very distantly, that he probably looked like an idiot. His mouth was open, his trousers tented, and he couldn’t make himself move – though every cell of his body demanded that he did.

It was obvious the second that his scent hit Draco, because all of a sudden the pillow was gone and Draco snapped into an upright position to face Harry. His wings, huge and fully spread to span over half the length of the room, were arched in some display pose and his eyes were huge pools of silver. He trilled, high and seductive in its musicality, and Harry stepped forward without realizing he’d done it.

Draco got off the bed when Harry didn’t step closer, and part of Harry was screaming that he needed to leave – but the rest of him couldn’t even look away. Merlin, he wanted to, because the sight of Draco like this was tearing him apart. He couldn’t understand what was going on, but Draco didn’t give him time to debate it. He crooned another trill, making Harry shudder, and then he came forward, placing both hands on his chest and sliding them upward. His talons were very present and yet Harry didn’t even have the presence of mind to be alarmed by them when they prickled over the sensitive skin of his neck.

“Draco,” he whispered, trying to get his head on straight. Instead of pausing to let him do so, Draco pressed closer. He crooned lowly – as lowly as a trill could get, that was – and then he leaned in, kissing Harry hard. Harry could feel the heat of his body, the hardness pressing against his lower stomach, and he kissed back with a helplessness that came from being drunk on allure. It really wasn’t a good feeling, underneath the overwhelming pleasure, and the contrast helped him get his head on straight even as Draco whined into his mouth. He wanted to whine back, but instead he pulled away, still shuddering, his hips still rocking forward into the inviting warmth of Draco’s body.

“ _No_ ,” Draco hissed, his voice human though echoing with the veela trill in a way that made Harry shake his head to return some semblance of clarity. His eyes were desperate. “ _Need you_!” He grasped at Harry’s shirt, but Harry pulled away before he could get his claws in.

“No,” he said back, breathing hard. He grasped Draco’s wrists before Draco could reach out and fix him in place, although he couldn’t do anything about the wings that wrapped around him and tried to pull him in. “This isn’t… you didn’t want this, Draco. I c-can’t.” It took a try or two to get the word out, the allure trying to suck him back in.

“Har- _ee_ ,” Draco cried, nearly a wail, when he pulled away and out of the reach of his wings. Draco took an aborted step forward, only to be stopped by the shield Harry threw up wordlessly. Their gazes met again, for one long last look, before Harry tore himself away and left the room as quickly as he could. He couldn’t handle the way Draco was looking at him, like he’d betrayed him. Like he was physically hurting him.

“Don’t let him out,” he managed to say to Geraint. “It’s not safe.”

Geraint, very quiet and solemn, nodded. For a long moment, Harry just stood there, regaining his composure. He couldn’t exactly will his erection away, but he also wasn’t sure if it was the heat or his natural attraction to Draco that was causing it. Probably both.

“Can you keep the portrait shut and get Madam Pomphrey?” he asked after he felt like he could reasonably speak again.

“Yes, Mr. Potter,” Geraint said. “I’ll be back soon.”

He nodded, and Geraint was gone. The rooms were absolutely sound proof, but Harry was half convinced he could still feel the allure. With a lack of a better idea, he went to the opposite wall of the hall and sat down against it, his knees up to his chest to cover where his body was rebelling against his decision to leave.

The next hour went by very slowly and very quickly all at once. Madam Pomphrey had gone a little pale when she’d arrived and he’d told her that Draco had hit a heat, or rut, or whatever they wanted to call it. He’d stayed out there, feet away, while Pomphrey squared her shoulders and went in with her wand readied. When she came back out a couple minutes or half an hour later, she looked more or less put together but not at all happy.

“You need to stay elsewhere while he’s like this,” she told him firmly, and even though something in his chest wrenched at being kept from Draco, he knew she was right. “His veela seems to have settled on you and he’s going to keep trying to get to you. We’ll keep him in your rooms, under care, and make sure he’s fed and safe – but you can’t be here.”

“I understand,” he said, numb. It seemed to always be one hit after another with them, and Harry wondered for a single selfish moment if they’d ever catch a break. If _he’d_ ever catch a break with Draco. It made him feel… awful, to think that way.

“You did very well, getting out of there and sending for me, but now it’s safer if you leave. Stay with your friends in the Tower,” Pomphrey said gently. “That’ll be best, don’t you think? Don’t worry about letting the Headmistress know; I’ll send a patronus.”

He nodded, the picture of compliance… but based on the yearning he still felt to go to Draco, he didn’t blame her one bit for waiting until he was down the hall and walking steadily away before going back into their rooms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've mentioned this before but I've put together [an Ex Nihilo Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/tisthewoman/playlist/2Whjc3eUHIDpwvjXhmvhVX) that is now nearly finished and more or less in order. I might still shift things and add things (as I don't have all the perfect transition songs that I'd like) but I'm really proud of it and I love all the songs on it, so if you guys want to give it a listen I'd love to hear your thoughts. A lot of this music is stuff I've listened to while writing and stuff that's inspired Ex Nihilo. The playlist follows the complete story though it's not all written quite yet, so tonally you can also get some vibes for the rest of the fic as well.


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